


Manners, Mr. Potter

by costumesofhannibal



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alana Bloom is Snape, Bedelia is McGonagall, Canon What Canon?, Crack, Dumbledore and Grindelwald are Soulmates, Dumbledore is Hannibal, Dumbledore is a Cannibal, Eat the Dursleys, F/M, Gen, Hufflepuff Crabbe and Goyle, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Mason Verger is the worst, POV Multiple, Seriously tho they're classic hufflepuff, Soulmates, Torture, Weasley Bashing, Will is Grindelwald, tags to change, they're loyal and hardworking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2019-07-02 01:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15786348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/costumesofhannibal/pseuds/costumesofhannibal
Summary: Albus Hannibal Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore framed his lover and soulmate Gellert Wilhelm Grindelwald and sent him to Nurmengard so he would always know where he was. When the ever so rude Voldemort seemingly dies at the hands of baby Harry Potter, Dumbledore sees an opportunity to control the future of the Boy-Who-Lived.





	1. Number Four Privet Drive

Albus Hannibal Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore stood over the bassinet of one Harry James Potter. The baby wailed. To his left stood Severus Bloom, cradling the cold dead corpse of Lily Potter. Sobs punctuated the eerie silence. All over the floor around them, lay the charred, exploded remains of one Tom Marvolo Riddle.

It appeared that Lily had been experimenting with some nasty wards on the crib, and they quite literally exploded in Voldemort’s face.

Albus turned, and considered the sad wreck of a man beside him. This would require some delicacy. Circumstances had presented him with a marvelous opportunity to reshape the wretch into something more. The perfect tool. A tool completely loyal to himself…and to the Greater Good of course. He spoke. “Lily would not have wanted you to cry.”

“What do you mean?” Severus said through sobs. “It’s all my fault. I went to the Dark Lord, I told him about the prophecy.”

Of course it’s your fault, Albus thought harshly. While some might say the prophecy was fulfilled, Albus felt one should always make contingency plans. “Lily sacrificed herself for this child. Her love protected him. She would want someone to take care of the boy.”

“I’ll take care of him.” Severus said in a moment of pure guilt. “I’ll protect him. Merlin, I swear to it. Lily, I swear on my magic I will protect your son.”

A glow of light green sparkling magic swirled around him, binding his oath. It wasn’t an Unbreakable Vow per se, Severus wouldn’t die if he broke it, but he would loose all his magic. Perhaps to some, that is a fate worse than death.

Albus looked on the scene coldly, and pondered where to put the baby. All the Potters were dead. Of course, the boy could not go to his Godfather, Sirius Black. He’d raise the boy to be terribly rude. Something must be done quickly to remove Mr. Black from the picture, Albus thought.

Unfortunately, even with Severus’ commitment, he was in no shape to raise a child. Despite his dottering, eccentric appearance, Albus was no callous fool. He knew that Severus needed time to grieve. He surveyed the man, eyeing the train wreck that was his clothing. Yes, Harry needed a proper home, with someone who could teach the boy to regularly shower.

“Does Lily have any family?” Albus asked, stalling for time. The wretch and the corpse had once been close, after all.

“Yes,” Severus mumbled, still rocking Lily’s corpse, as if hoping desperately life would jump back into her. “She has a sister, Petunia.”

“Then he shall go there.”

“But they’re muggles! I would provide a far better home!”

 _Confundus!_ Albus said with a flick of his wand. Severus blinked, slightly confused for a moment, and then nodded. “I’m sorry Albus what were you saying?”

“I was asking who you thought should raise the boy,”

Severus nodded. “Yes, Petunia would make an excellent home. It’s important he grow up with relatives.”

Albus smiled thinly. This was perfect. Harry Potter would have a proper home, and if anything went wrong, well, Severus would feel the guilt as it was now his idea.

Albus spoke. “We need to perform a full medical exam on the child. I do not like the look of this scar.”

Severus nodded.

“But more importantly, we should change his name. To protect him.”

“What?”

“The world will see Harry Potter as the chosen one, Merlin reborn. When he learns of his past, it will go to his head. No, it’s much better if he thinks he is someone else.”

“Who?”

“William.” Albus thought fondly of his tragic soulmate. “Yes, William Potter. Harry Potter’s younger brother. From now on, Harry Potter tragically died at the hands of Lord Voldemort, destroying them both. And William Potter was left unscathed.”

***

Albus stood in front of a Number Four, Privet Drive. It was an unassuming two story house, with a brown tiled roof, and light brown siding. It sat in a quiet, unassuming neighborhood, filled with homes far smaller than their occupants egos, each as soul-crushingly uninspired as the next. The type of home, Albus thought, designed for mid-to-lower level executives. Boring people, with boring lives.

In one hand he held a woven basket. Inside lay the a, charmed to sleep, wrapped in a warm blanket.

In Albus’ younger days, he had delved deeply into the arts of healing. On his examination of little William Potter, he was alarmed to find that the scar on the baby’s forehead radiated dark magic. A month and several experiments later, little William Potter no longer had a scar, and the dark magic was gone. After all, it would be highly irresponsible to leave such a mark on a child going into Muggle care.

He placed the basket on the front step of the house. He tucked in letter explaining that Lily and James were dead. He rang the doorbell. And with a sharp crack, apperated away.

***

**4 years later…**

Severus Bloom and Albus Dumbledore walked along the road to Number Four Privet Drive. With notice-me-not charms on them, no one turned to stare at Dumbledores outlandish light blue plaid robes and complimentary tie. As always, he wore a formal wizards hat, always complimentary to his robes.

They knocked on the door.

“Get into the cupboard! And be quiet!” A deep man’s voice inside yelled.

After a moment, a thin, bony looking women opened the door. Severus immediately recognized her as Petunia, Lily’s sister. Time had not aged her well. Her face was long, and rather horse like.

Severus scowled. She recognized him immediately. “You! Get away from my house you freak—”

She was cut off by Dumbledore casting a silencing spell.

“Now, that’s no way to greet a guest.” He lectured. “Let’s try that again. Hello, I am Professor Dumbledore, and you are?” He released the spell.

Her eyes widened in fear. “Petunia…Dursley…” she stammered out.

“Good, good. Now invite us in.”

She stepped back, silently leading them into the house.

Severus was overwhelmed by the amount of pink inside the house. Everything seemed a washed out peach of a hideous salmon color. The smell of roasting potatoes and beef permeated the air.

A very fat man stood in the living room. “Petunia, who are these freaks? What are they wearing? Why are they in my house—”

Once again, Dumbledore used his silencing spell, introduced himself, and waited for a response.

“Vernon Dursley.” The fat man muttered. Of course Petunia would have married someone as hateful and bigoted as herself. Severus frowned. Why did he think having Harry—no, William grow up in this house was a good idea? He supposed he thought Petunia had changed. That maturity would have grown her out of the vehement hatred she held towards her sister.

Petunia led them into the kitchen. It was antiseptically clean, with a variety of fancy muggle cooking gadgets. She turned to check a sauce, bubbling away in a small pot.

“Now, I must ask, who is in the cupboard?” said Dumbledore quietly. His voice was calm, soothing even. But there was a hardness in his eyes.

“No one,” she pathetically stumbled out. “The dog. Yes, the dog in the cupboard.”

“I see.” Severus frowned as Dumbledore surveyed the room. No doubt, like Severus, he noticed the complete absence of dog hair.

“Why are you here?” Vernon demanded.

“We would like to see William Potter.”

“William?!” Petunia said, her voice high and screechy. Like an obnoxious bird. Severus could feel himself tense. Something was very wrong.

“Yes, are you hard of hearing?”

“He’s out.” Vernon stated. “He’s playing with Dudley.”

“Then we shall wait.” Dumbledore said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “May I ask, what are you cooking?” His voice seemed cheerful, disarming. Severus knew better. He could hear the undercurrent of danger in the man’s voice.

Severus kept his space, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching cautiously as Petunia and Dumbledore exchanged cooking tips. He could see that Dumbledore was unimpressed.

Just then, a young boy came running in. Severus assumed this was Dudley. He was a round, fat boy, not unlike a beachball. “Where’s Will?” He demanded. “It’s time for Will wrangling!”

“Will wrangling?” Dumbledore asked, his voice completely level. He seemed only vaguely interested, but Severus knew that beneath still waters, a tempest brewed.

“Oh, he’s in the—” Dudley started.

“Dudley, outside now!”

“But mom…” the beachball wined.

“Now!”

He slunk off into the backyard.

Severus could feel anger starting to simmer up inside him. Will was not with Dudley. In fact, he suspected they were keeping Lily’s son, in a cupboard! They referred to him as a dog!

Vernon cut in. “I think you should leave.”

“Oh, but we were just getting acquainted.” Dumbledore cheerfully replied.

“Out! Now! You have no right to come into my house and start making demands”

“I’ve been very polite.” Dumbledore stated disarmingly.

“You know how! You…magic freaks!”

Severus snapped. How could he have left Lily’s son with these monsters! He leapt forward, grabbing Vernon by the neck, digging his wand into the portly man’s carotid artery. _Legilimens!_ He shouted in rage. 

There he saw how they treated the boy. Screaming at him, treating him like a servant. The fear in the boy’s eyes as he ran from Dudley’s punches and Vernon’s belt.

Ignoring Vernon’s cries of pain, he delve deeper and deeper, not caring at the damage the spell might cause, until there was nothing left to see. He allowed the broken man to crumble to the floor, unconscious.

He tossed Vernon aside. Vernon fell to the ground, unconscious.

“What have you done to my husband!” Petunia screeched, reaching for the saucepan on the stove. Just as she picked it up, planning to try and whack Severus, Dumbledore shot out a hand, and silently cast a spell, causing the pot to fall like a lead brick back onto the stove. Petunia tried to let it go, but found her hands glued to the pot.

Vernon twitched and moaned pathetically.

Petunia shuddered, avoiding Severus’ gaze. She hunched in, trying to turn away. But she was stuck to the pot. Severus grabbed her shoulders, her beige sweater sliding down, exposing her bony collarbone. Roughly, he forced her to face him. She tried closing her eyes, but he pulled out his wand, casting a spell. Suddenly, her eyes were wide open, terrified.

_Legilimens!_

Hate. Overwhelming hate for the boy, was the first emotion Severus felt. Disgust, contempt. Every time she looked at the boy she was reminded of Lily and that freak she ran off with. Severus growled, half angry at her, half angry at himself. He should have checked on the boy sooner. Why had he waited four years!

Soon, just like her worthless husband, she was laying on the floor unconscious.

Just as quickly as it had swept in, the rage started to recede. He looked down in horror at what he had done to the two muggles. He turned to Dumbledore, expecting a look of reproach, for the man to have interceded. Instead, all he saw was mild amusement.

Before Severus could question, Dumbledore gently said, “Come now. Let us find William.” He walked right past the two twitching muggles. Pulling out a lock of hair from his pocket, he waved his wand and created a sympathetic link, before casting a point me spell. It led them to the cupboard under the stairs. They both crouched down. Dumbledore knocked. “Hello?”

The door slowly opened. A young boy shrank back, cowering in the dark recesses of the cupboard. He was thin, abnormally thin, clearly undernourished. His hair was black, and messy. Severus found himself tensing. The child looked far too much like his bullying father. But then, Severus saw the boy’s eyes. He had eyes exactly like Lily. That striking emerald green. A green so bright, it shouldn’t be possible.

The child shook his head.

“What’s your name?” Dumbledore asked.

“Freak.” The child replied.

Severus’ heart burned with hate at the Dursleys, and immense guilt. How could he have been so foolish? Looking back, he knew how Petunia treated Lily. He should have known better.

He felt Dumbledore’s calming hand on his shoulder. 

“And what are you doing?” Dumbledore asked.

“I’m sorry Sir, Uncle Vernon says I’m not to speak to my betters.”

Severus let out a low growl as he noticed the bruises on the boy’s arms.

“Mr. Dursley would have done well to follow his own advice.” Dumbledore said with a dark chuckle. “Now, I’m Professor Dumbledore, and this is Severus Bloom. We’re here to take you away.”

The boy’s eyes widened in fear, and he scuttled further back into the cupboard. “Are you from the glue factory? Uncle says that’s where they take freaks who misbehave!”

Dumbledore knelt down, and offered a comforting hand out to William. “No, we’re here to take you to a new home, a proper home. My friend Mr. Bloom will take care of you now.”

Severus was always amazed at how kind and gentle Albus was with children. He’d never had much patience for them himself. But then, Albus was the Greatest Light Wizard alive. Of course he would be good with children.

William shook his head. “You don’t want me. Aunt Petunia says I’m terrible at cooking and cleaning, and nobody would ever want me.”

Severus blinked back tears, he felt so guilty. How could he have let Lily down _again._ Honestly, he was surprised he still had magic, he had failed so utterly. “Don’t worry,” He reassured William. He may be terrible with children, but he had to try. “You won’t have to cook or clean. Your mother was one of my dearest friends. I know how your mother would have wanted you to be raised, and it’s not like this.”

For just the briefest moment, the boy’s eyes widened in hope. The sort of desperate hope, where he expected it to be seized away from him in a moment’s notice. “Auntie says Mommy was a drunken harlot. What’s a harlot?”

“Your mother was a very sweet woman.” Dumbledore reassured, the grip on Severus’ shoulder tightening.

Severus wanted to rise, stomp back into the kitchen, and start showing the Dursleys what he actually thought of them. He pictured slowly torturing them over a long period of time for the damage they’d done to Lily’s child.

“Have you ever seen a picture of your mother?” Dumbledore continued. “Why don’t you go with Severus. He can show you pictures. He’ll also get your something to eat.”

The boy’s eyes lit up with the mention of food. “Can I sit at the table?”

***

With a loud crack, Severus returned to the Dursley home. Under Dumbledore’s instructions, he’d left William with Madame Pomfrey.To his surprise, the house smelled amazing. The aroma of tart fruit and caramelized meat filled the air.

From outside the kitchen, he could hear Dumbledore sautéing and humming to himself. Severus couldn’t help but crack a small smile. It was one of the headmaster’s many eccentricities, cooking. His elective on magical culinary arts was not just popular with pureblood women, (how the better to manage their house elves), no it had become a must for many of Hogwart’s students. It was well known that Dumbledore’s annual Yule feast an event of the season, right up there with the Gala at Malfoy manor.

“Eat with me.” Dumbledore instructed, exiting the kitchen and leading Severus to the dining room. The table was set for three, and there was a bottle of wine on the table, opened by Petunia before their arrival.

“What is it?” Severus asked, eyeing the large lobe of meat on each plate.

“Fois Gras.” Dumbledore replied, pouring each of them a glass of red wine. He swirled it around and took a sip, before making a face. “My apologies. This is atrocious.”

“Knowing Petunia,” Severus drawled, “It was probably on sale at the grocery store.” He took a bite. The meat was fatty, succulent, and delicious as it melted on his tongue. “Isn’t this duck or goose liver? You went to the grocery store?” He never remembered Petunia as an adventurous eater, quite the opposite in fact.

A cryptic smile fleeted across Dumbledore’s face. “Some people say it’s quite cruel to force feed animals.” He responded. “But what if the animal force feeds itself? Gorged on delicious treats, isn’t it the animal’s free will? Would not restraining it be a form of cruelty? Denying it choice?”

Honestly, Severus had never thought about it, nor did he particularly care to. There were enough problems in the world without adding to them the ethics of one’s food. “I never thought of it.” He said, swiping the last piece of liver in the crimson red sauce.

“Good.” Dumbledore rose. “Now, help me take those animals back to the castle dungeons. Don’t worry. I’ve tempered the bleeding, and applied a potion which will, in time, allow the liver to reform.” He smirked, distantly. “The wonders of magic never cease to amaze.”

Stomach roiling with growing horror, Severus rushed to the kitchen. The bloodied body of a stunned Vernon Dursley pinned to the wall with a sticking charm. He appeared to be under some sort of stasis charm. Blood seeped through his clothes, his shirt was cut open and his stomach was exposed. The cut marks on his abdomen were surgical in their precision.

Severus looked from the body back at Dumbledore, who loomed in the kitchen entry. The kind, gentle grandfather was gone, replaced by this inhuman demon.

“What have you done with Dumbledore?” Severus shouted, drawing his wand.

“My dear boy,” Dumbledore chuckled, wandlessly disarming him, “I’m right here.”

Severus hunched over, dry heaving. Unfortunately, after years in the service of the Dark Lord, he’d learned to have a very strong stomach. But nothing the Dark Lord had done was as debauched as this. _Oh Lily, what have I done? What monster have I let into Harry’s life?_ Severus started to panic. _It’s not like I can tell anyone! It’s my word against his, and I’m a Death Eater!_ Severus started breathing deeply, pulling himself together. _No, I have to keep my mouth shut. I have to raise Harry. I certainly can’t let him do it, and that’s what will happen if I’m gone. Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry Lilly, I’m so sorry._

“I want to make it clear.” Dumbledore said, his voice razor sharp, moving like a predator, with the grace of a panther. “They were rude. The rude are animals, not fit for humanity.” His voice lightened in tone. “Now, if you’re going to raise William Potter, you need to be a proper role model. Young William is the heir to a Most Ancient and Noble House, and must be raised accordingly. Now, you won’t let Lily down, _will you_?”

Severus understood. He could feel the magic radiating from Dumbledore as it crackled in the air around them. How this man, if you could call him that, had the world fooled as a Light Wizard…Severus shuddered. He too had been fooled. But now, he saw Dumbledore’s true self. He’d seen many a Dark Wizard, and many a killer under his service of the Dark Lord, and standing in front of him was a man who had not only killed before, but enjoyed it.

Severus found himself quickly nodding, unsure if he should kneel like he did for the Dark Lord. “Yes, Sir.” He kept his gaze low.

“Good. You will make an appointment with my tailor and hairdresser immediately.” With a flick of his wandless wrist, Dumbledore unstuck Vernon, and stacked the Dursleys’ up like logs. “As for their offspring, we should send him to that Muggle orphanage Lord Verger sponsored in a fit of penetrant joy upon his release from the Imperius curse.” A smile, one with far too many teeth exposed slid across Dumbledore’s face, at odds with the jaunty wizards hat atop his white hair.

Severus shuddered. At least the Dark Lord had the courtesy to look the part.

*******

**7 years later…**

Albus Hannibal Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore walked up to the two story house on Spinner’s End. The neighborhood had cleaned up since his first visit, years ago. It seemed Severus had worked to make it a proper environment to raise William.

Initially there had been objections to Severus Bloom, a wizard of questionable repute, raising William Potter, the only surviving member of the Potter family. However, with young William’s Godfather, Sirius Black, in Azkaban for mass murder, there was little people could do. (Dumbledore was still surprised he didn’t have to do anything about Black. The man lost his mind after the death of the Potters. It was only a matter of making sure the man didn’t get a trial.) It was only a matter of a few forged documents, and it seemed that Lily Potter wanted her childhood friend to raise William if anything happened to Black.

Dumbledore knocked on the door.

Severus answered. Severus’ dark hair was clean, tied back in a low pony tail with a black silk ribbon. He wore rich black robes, closing shut with a silver clasp. He even smelled lightly of cologne.

Albus was impressed. He had not expected the young man to learn poise so quickly. But after he’d spoken to Severus at the Dursley’s, and yes, Albus admitted, he did lay it on a bit thick, Severus had shaped up immediately. It was a vast improvement from the scrawny, acne ridden young man that had come crawling to Dumbledore years ago.

“Albus.” Severus greeted, ushering him inside. The home was cozy, filled with warm light and books.

The patter of little footsteps revealed a young boy. There was William Potter, dressed in neat black robes, and an apron. The boy’s black hair was neatly tamed—well as neatly tamed as possible. It seemed William had inherited his father’s unruly mop.

“Professor Dumbledore.” The boy politely greeted. “We’re cooking dinner.”

Dumbledore smiled. He’d offered to take William under his wing and teach him how to properly cook. Strangely, Severus had demurred. He supposed one day he’d have to force the issue, but for now, he would leave it be.

“Would you care to join us?” Severus asked, a slight tension in his voice.

“My pleasure.” Dumbledore replied, following them into the kitchen.

“How is your day?” Dumbledore asked William.

“I received my letter!” William excitedly exclaimed. “I’m meeting Neville and Draco in Diagon Alley tomorrow. We’re going to pick up our books!” Young William beamed.

Despite Severus and William largely keeping to themselves, as Severus spent the years running a mail-order potions service, Albus wanted William to have all the advantages of a pureblood education.

And socialization was an important aspect. It was important that William meet other young witches and wizards of his age. After all, William would one day sit on the Wizengamot, and it was important he develop connections with his future peers.

So Albus was glad William had befriended Neville Longbottom. Even though the boy was by all accounts magically inept, and there was worry he might be a squib, he was the last of the Longbottoms.

Draco Malfoy was perhaps the stranger friend. Albus supposed it was no surprise the two met, as Severus was Draco’s Godfather. He was just surprised that William would tolerate Draco. Though, now he thought about it, it was unsurprising William had a less than charitable view of Muggles after his experience with his Aunt and Uncle.

It wasn’t that Albus disliked Muggles. He didn’t hate them like Voldemort, but he found they were often far more rude, all gaping and pointing, treating Wizards like freak shows at a Carnival. And they had no idea of the proper etiquette of pure blood culture.

“William, why don’t you set the dining room for three. It seems Professor Dumbledore will be joining us for dinner.”

William nodded eagerly, and rushed off.

Dumbledore scanned the kitchen. Severus was sautéing some greens on the stove, while a pot occasionally stirred itself on the stove. “I’d like to celebrate your new post, as Potions Master at Hogwarts, and the new Head of Slytherin House.”

“What?” Severus exclaimed, before quickly schooling his expression. He stepped away from the stove. “I was not aware that Professor Slughorn was retiring.”

A thin smile flickered across Albus’ lips. “Neither does he.”

A barely imperceptible shudder flickered though the new Potions Master.

***

Gellert Wilhelm Grindelwald sat on the cold stone floor of his Nurmengard cell, with nothing but the steady drops of leaking water to keep him company. He’d lost count, the repetitive, drip, drip, drip, of water on stone driving him half mad. Even the rats didn’t bother to visit anymore.

 _He_ was the only one who visited.

And _He_ hadn’t visited in years.

He heard the grating sound of metal on stone, as a door in the hallway outside his cell opened. Anticipation flooded through him, and he steadied himself for the inevitable meeting. Subconsciously, he futilely trying to smooth back his matted, disheveled hair. His ankle chaffed at the metal chain, connecting him to the iron bed, with its sad, flat, stained mattress. Helpless with all the wards, his natural magic fully suppressed.

He counted the steps down the hallway. He’d long since given up trying to escape. A series of coughs wracked his thin body.

A muttered spell, and the metal door swung open.

Standing in the entryway, was his most hated companion, his only visitor, and the love of his life, Albus Hannibal Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. His soulmate. True, honest to Merlin, soulmate. An occurrence so rare in the Wizarding world, it was rarely written about. The two of them had delved deep into the matter, learning everything there was. Just like they had delved deep into every magical matter, healing arts, warding arts, even the dark arts. Hannibal and Will they called each other. For years they were inseparable.

Now, the man standing before him was Professor Dumbledore. Gellert would not deign to use the familiar with the man. The Hannibal in Will’s heart had died long ago, and that Will had too.

“Why are you here?” Gellert spitted venom, then doubled over into another coughing fit.

“Such a polite greeting.” Professor Dumbledore replied, as he conjured a very comfortable looking leather chair.

He still cut an impressive figure in his blue and orange plaid robes, and paisley tie. He’d aged though, Gellert though. There were even more wrinkles around his eyes, and his hair was completely white, not its old vibrant red. In that moment, Gellert wondered how he had aged. Not well, he thought. He hadn’t seen a mirror in decades.

“Let’s try again,” Professor Dumbledore continued. “Hello Will, how are you enjoying this pleasant day?”

Gellert scowled at Albus’ use of his nickname. “Just peachy. I’m chained to a bed, with only enough room to get to my food and use the bathroom.”

“Well, if you hadn’t attacked me for my wand four years ago, you’re wouldn’t be.”

“You deserved it.”

Professor Dumbledore remained impassive, as if Gellert completely bored him. “If you’re on good behavior today, I can have a word with the wardens and see if they might remove your leash. Perhaps they will listen to my suggestion.”

Gellert scoffed. “Of course they’ll listen to you. This entire prison you run, oh Supreme Mugwump.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Now, is that the way to speak to an old friend?”

“Old friend,” Gellert broke into a pained, hysterical laugh. “You framed me!” He shouted, rage curling up in his stomach. The wounds breaking open once more. “You destroyed my life. How long can you keep this up this charade?” He started wheezing and coughing. Every day this damned cough got worse. Even with his magic suppressed, it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to it.

Professor Dumbledore looked up in thought, and placidly replied. “Oh, it’s been over 40 years, and no one has commented.”

“People think I was the evil wizard trying to destroy Europe!” Gellert shouted in frustration. Even after all this time, he still felt the betrayal, the pain in his chest when he learned of Dumbledore’s role in the chaos on the continent, and the true reason he wanted the Deathly Hollows. Simply, Dumbledore had been bored, and decided to create a suitable enemy for himself. When he tired of the role, poor Gellert was his scapegoat.

“You found the Elder Wand. You were trying to stop me. Had I not stepped in, you would have hurt yourself. And I couldn’t bear to see you hurt, Will.”

Professor Dumbledore always said that. “You have a funny way of showing you care.”

“Now I know where you are. _Always.”_

Gellert cringed at the sudden intensity in Professor Dumbledore’s dark eyes. They burned with that covetous gleam that once he had found so enthralling, and now found terrifying. Taking a deep breath, Gellert asked, “Why are you even here?”

Professor Dumbledore rose, dispelling the chair with a flick of his wandless wrist. “I suppose I felt nostalgic. Young William Potter starts Hogwarts soon. I thought I’d visit his namesake.”

“‘William Potter’? You changed his name? You old controlling bastard.”

Professor Dumbledore continued walking towards the door. “I see you have no interest in holding a conversation. Enjoy your solitude.”

The door closed behind him with a loud clank.

Gellert wanted to shout for him to comeback. Not only out of desperation for human contact, but because part of him wanted to see _Him._ A pathetic part wanted to try and find Hannibal again, go back to how it used to be, before the awful betrayal. But he kept his dignity and remained silent. He punched the floor in frustration.

He swore. It hurt.

***

**And a sneak peek for next time…**

Minerva Du Maurier McGonagall sat at the faculty table looking out into the Great Hall. The chatter of excited students filled the air, as they flowed into the room. Hearing the sound of the chair next to her move, she turned.

Albus was dressed in full start of term splendor, in red and gold paisley dress robes, with a matching hat. He wore a smug smile and his eyes twinkled. It was clear he was up to no good.

“What have you done now.” She asked pointedly.

“I’ve taken the liberty to remove the Confundus charm on the sorting hat.”

“What charm?” Minerva asked, looking up abruptly.

“It appears one of the former headmasters put a charm on the hat. For the past century, if a student thought strongly that they belonged in a house, the sorting hat would oblige.” The mischievous smile on Dumbledore’s face grew. “Now, it will place them where they truly belong, not where they think they belong.”

“That will cause chaos.”

He leaned back in his chair, an air of smug satisfaction swirling around him. “I expect so. But it is important young William ends up where he truly belongs. If some Weasley gets sorted into Slytherin, well, I will just have to incinerate the inevitable Howler.”

Minerva suppressed a groan, and reached for her goblet and frowned. Something far more stronger than pumpkin juice was needed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the crackyist crack fic. I saw a lot of manipulative Dumbledore fics, and thought why not go all the way? What if Dumbledore was Hannibal? And then the idea stuck, and I couldn't get rid of it. If you guys like it, I can keep writing more.
> 
> If I continue, next up:  
> Harry, I mean William, meets old friends, and makes new friends (and enemies) on the train.  
> The sorting!  
> Severus frinds a surprise


	2. Welcome to Hogwarts!

The Hogwarts express gleamed in the sunlight. It was bright red, darker than a fire engine, and redder than a cherry. William Potter felt himself lighten in excitement. He’d arrived early, Uncle Bloom having dropped him off at the station, before apparating ahead to Hogwarts.

As William approached the train, he saw a boy his age in exceptionally well tailored clothing. The boy was clearly a Muggle, wearing a black velvet jacket, with a bright red lining that flashed in the breeze. The boy held an aristocratic gaze, as he surveyed the train. Next to the boy stood a tall, thin woman, in fashionable Muggle clothing, wearing expensive looking heels and holding a large designer purse.

The woman fussed over the boy’s dark hair before letting him go. With grace, the aristocratic boy moved his luggage into the train. Intrigued, William maneuvered his luggage onto the train, and followed the boy onto the train. Reaching him in the train corridor, William introduced himself. “William Potter.”

The boy flashed an suave smile. His teeth were bright white. “Justin Finch-Fletchley.” He reached out an firmly shook William’s hand.

William was pleasantly surprised that the boy did not immediately react to his name, merely treating him politely. Shopping in Diagon Alley with Uncle Bloom had been very trying. So many people upon meeting him, cast sad glances, and apologetic looks. “Nice to meet you. New to the magical world?”

“Yes,” Justin proudly looked, flashing a charming smile. “Mother and Father wanted me to go to Eton. But I convinced them. Father thinks it will be useful to have a wizard in the family.”

“Eton?”

“Yes, my father went there, as did his father before, and his father before that.”

William nodded, as they two boys pushed their luggage into a nearby compartment. Inside, sitting alone in the corner was a girl with her nose buried in a book. Her hair was bushy, rather similar to a frizzed out triangle. William frowned. While part of him was sympathetic, after all his hair was naturally unruly, Uncle Bloom never would let him leave the house like that.

“Justin Finch-Fletchley.”

“Mhm?” She half replied, seemingly only half noticing.

“William Potter.” He extended a hand, touching her book.

“Oh!” She snapped the book shut in surprise. “Hermione Granger,” She spoke quickly, shaking his hand. She was clearly startled by their arrival. She quickly gazed William up and down. “I’ve read about you!” She continued excitedly. “You’re Harry Potter’s younger bother! The brother of the Savior of the Wizarding World!”

William frowned. He hated how everyone always mentioned his brother. He supposed he should feel bad, as his brother did die. But part of him resented the implicit comparison. How could he ever live up to that?

“You’re new to this world too?” Justin politely asked, stowing his luggage and taking a seat across from Hermione. William could see Justin noticed the Muggle wool skirt and baggy blue sweater.

“Yes! My parents thought it was a prank. They didn’t believe it until Professor McGonagallturned into a cat!”

“Yes, she turned mother’s prized china vase into a pumpkin and back.” Justin nodded sagely. “What do your parents do?”

“Oh, they’re dentists.” Hermione said proudly.

William couldn’t help but notice the girl’s buck teeth. He was sure Justin did too, and was also thinking they couldn’t be very good dentists if they let their daughter go out like that.

Before Justin could respond, the cabin door opened, and Neville Longbottom entered. He looked like Neville Longbottom did, when he was a first year. He was cheery, chubby, and vaguely distracted.

William smiled at his friend. They’d known each other for years. Neville’s grandmother had introduced them years ago. Initially it had lead to some frosty tea parties supervised by Augusta Longbottom, Narcissa Malfoy, and Uncle Bloom. But over the years, they seemed to have at least come to a détente.

“There you are! I was looking all over for you!” Neville exclaimed, almost tripping on his luggage.

William helped the struggling boy bring his case into the cabin.

“Neville Longbottom, this is Hermione Granger, and Justin Finch-Fletchley.” William politely introduced.

Neville flopped down on the seat across from Hermione. “Oh, you’re reading Hogwarts a History?”

“Yes!” Hermione excitedly replied, almost vibrating in her seat. It was exhausting to watch. “I can’t believe such a place exists! Did you know there’s a huge lake? And it has a giant squid in it?”

“That’s great.” Justin smiled. William knew the boy was faking it, but he was impressed with how natural Justin seemed to look interested.

“It’s my fifth time reading it! Have you read it?” She turned to Justin. “You should be prepared!”

Justin cast her a patronizing look. “Tip for success. Don’t advertise your work. Make it seem natural.”

Hermione huffed, looking offended. “What’s wrong with hard work?”

Justin sighed. “When my father was at Cambridge, his best friend disappeared two weeks before exams. Day of the exam, his friend strolled in five minutes late, in a white suit, perfect tan, and a Panamanian hat. Apparently he spent the last two weeks on a beach in Bermuda.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he did terribly. So irresponsible.”

A thin smile crossed Justin’s face. “Actually, he did the best in the class. Father later f found out that his friend spent the past two weeks holed up in a hotel in Brighton, stripped naked, studying between two tanning lamps. That is the secret to success.”

William, Neville, and Hermione just looked at Justin in bafflement. William had to admit, it was truly a brilliant strategy. Justin seemed like a true Slytherin. Before William could respond, the cabin door slid open. Wearing a particularly smug expression, Draco Malfoy sauntered in. He smoothed back his slicked hair. William sighed. Draco looked to be in one of his insufferable moods.

There were times that William found Draco trying. But Draco was Uncle Bloom’s Godson, and they’d come to know each other quite well over the years. Once you got to know him, Draco wasn’t _that_ terrible.

Draco surveyed the room, looking rather twitchy. “Potter, Longbottom,” he tried his best to look disdainful. It came off as insecure and insincere. William wondered what on earth was going on with Draco. While he had an annoying habit of treating others like that, he usually was quite friendly with his close friends. “And who are you…” He lazily drawled, turning towards Hermione and Justin.

Justin seemed to take Draco’s behavior as a challenge. “Justin Finch-Fletchley.” The boy haughtily replied. “Who are _you?_ ”

William suppressed a groan. He knew Draco was weird about Muggleborns. He just hoped Draco didn’t do something offensive.

Draco seemed taken aback by Justin’s response. A disparaging look crossed his face. “Draco Malfoy. Scion of House Malfoy, one of the oldest families in _our_ world.”

A smug smile crossed Justin’s lips. “How nice. My father is Lord Finch-Fletchley, in the House of Lords.”

Draco looked at Justin blankly. “House of Lords?”

Hermione brightened excited to use her new wealth of information. “What does your kind call it? Its like our Wizengamot! Yes, that’s what its called.”

Draco huffed. “Well, my Father is best friends with the Minster of Magic, and he’s on the Wizengamot.”

Justin chuckled. “Ministers are so common around my house. They’re always coming for dinner. My parents are best friends with _the_ Prime Minster. They’re actually going to Chequers this weekend.”

Draco and Hermione looked momentarily shocked, though for different reasons. Hermione’s eyes widened in recognition, no doubt understanding Lord Finch-Fletchley’s importance. Despite it being Muggle knowledge, Uncle Bloom and Professor Dumbledore thought it very important that William know Muggle history and politics. Draco on the other hand, knew from Justin’s tone it was important, but William didn’t think he understood quite why. Not that Draco would reveal his ignorance.

But before either could respond, the cabin door slammed open. A boy with hair the color of rust entered.

“I heard William Potter was here!” He loudly exclaimed.

William shifted nervously. He felt like a zoo animal on display.

 _“Weasley.”_ Draco scoffed, his attention shifting away from the Muggle aristocrat.

The red-headed boy frowned, his gaze flicking between Neville and William. “Is he causing you problems?” The boy asked, puffing his chest out, and taking an aggressive step towards Draco.

“He’s our friend.” Neville nervously replied, taking a protective step in between the two boys. Neville was clearly intimidated by the red head, but was trying his hardest not to show it.

Weasley’s jaw dropped. A nasty sneer crossed his face. “I guess I’m not surprised. We all know you Wizengamot types stick together.”

“What does that mean?” William asked, fighting his fists. He could tell from Weasley’s tone that it wasn’t meant as a compliment.

“Money’s all that matters with _your_ types.” Weasley spat out.

“That’s not true!” Neville shouted, shocked and offended.

“Both your parents would be ashamed!” Weasley shouted back.

Neville turned white and started shaking with rage.

“Take that back!” William shouted.

“Your parents fought and died on the side of the Light! And you’re friends with a Malfoy Just spit on their graves!”

Neville moved forward, fist clenched, ready to take a swing at Weasley. Hermione stood, launching herself between them. William grabbed Neville, and started holding him back.

“Get out!” Hermione shouted, “Rude! Coming in here and insulting people’s dead parents! Shockingly rude!”

Weasley stared at her in affront. “Why is a Muggleborn like you defending the likes of him? He’d want to see you dead!”

“Just get out!” Hermione snapped.

Shocked Weasley slunk out of the cabin. As the door closed, Justin turned to them. “Ah, I see you lot are also afflicted with Labour?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and sat back down to read her book. The four boys sat down, and began amiably chatting. To William’s relief, it seemed the intrusion had ended Draco and Justin’s standoff. At least for the time, Draco seemed to have concluded that their commonalities outweighed his skepticism of Justin’s blood status. Both were from rich, powerful families, and they could bond over a distaste for the lower sorts who did not know their place.

A quick jolt told William the train was leaving the station. The ride passed in uneventful chatter. Hermione read her book, and the boys gorged themselves on candy, each one buying an absurd amount, planning to save some for later. Naturally, they ate them all. They introduced Justin to chocolate frogs, and Bertie Botts’ Every Flavored Beans. It took William’s best behavior not to guffaw at Justin’s face when he got a snot flavored bean.

Sadly, the peace was interrupted by an intruder. A small boy with spiked hair strolled into the room. He wore expensive robes, just as nice as William’s or Draco’s. On his lapel stood a little Sicilian Flag pin.

“You must be Draco Malfoy.” The boy grinned, a mean, mad grin, not unlike that of a serial-killer’s mug shot.

“ _Mason Verger_.” Draco said, his voice honeyed with scorn.

“With a Potty and Longass.” Mason giggled. “I heard you were a total ponce. They were right.”

Malfoy suppressed a snarl.

William groaned. He’d heard of the Verger’s. Professor Dumbledore said they were very rude. Unfortunately, they were also very influential.

“You’re an embarrassment.” Mason scoffed, his eyes glancing Draco up and down. “That hair, so girly. How long do you spend in front of a mirror?”

“You’re one to talk, pineapple hair. How much hair gel do you use?” Draco snapped back.

“With pretty boy hair like that, you’re going to get sorted into something embarrassing. Like Hufflepuff.” Mason laughed, sounding deranged.

Draco started shaking in rage. “I’m going to be in Slytherin! Like all the Malfoys!”

“Oh? Are you sure you’re actually a Malfoy? I heard your mother—”

“What is wrong with you!” Hermione snapped her book shut. She’d been clearly trying to ignore the brewing fight. “What is with your people and insulting parents?”

William couldn’t help but smile. It filled him with great joy when he heard someone call out the rude—just like Professor Dumbledore taught him.

“How dare you talk to me you—Mudblood!” Mason rounded.

William felt the room drop a couple degrees, as he and Neville stared at Mason in shock. Even Draco looked taken aback.

Hermione spluttered, confused. William noticed Justin raise an eyebrow, quietly watching the scene unfold.

“Get out.” Draco snapped. “

“I think its best if you leave.” William spoke, suppressing a boiling rage. He’d have to do something about Mason…

The boy laughed manically, and with a flounce, stomped out of the cabin.

Justin shook his head. “I see your kind also has the BNP.”

***

Draco thoughtfully scuffed at the floor with his black shoe, waiting for the sorting to start. On the train, he’d gone to William and Neville with the unpleasant mission of ending their friendship. After all, it wouldn’t do for a Malfoy, a proud member of the house of Slytherin to be publicly seen being friends with a Longbottom and a Potter. His parents had tolerated their friendship up until now, under the guise of Draco learning to make political alliances and manipulate others. However before he left for Hogwarts that morning, his father took him aside. Draco understood. This was supposed to be a test, for him to learn the importance of breaking alliances, and the importance of not letting himself grow to attached to allies.

It had gone miserably. He had a whole speech memorized, complete with nasty slurs about both their parents. But before he could speak, a red-headed Weasel appeared. And it didn’t seem right to verbally eviscerate his friends in front of _him_.

Then, the Weasel started shouting at William! Draco was supposed to do that! He couldn’t be upstaged by Magical Britain’s most famous charity case. It had quickly descended into shouting, and before he knew it, William and Neville were defending him! That Mudblood too!

That was not how it was supposed to go. Maybe he could get away with delaying his breakup with Neville and William, but he certainly couldn’t be seen as being friends with a Mudblood! What would father say!

Then the situation was made worse by the presence of Mason Verger. Draco had never met Mason, he only knew that the Verger’s had a son and daughter his age. While the Verger’s were also Dark, it was well known behind closed doors that the Malfoys and Vergers despised each other.

Merlin, he’d just met Mason, and he hated him already. Slytherin wasn’t big enough for the two of them.

Professor McGonagall announced that the sorting was to start. Draco leaned forward in anticipation. He’d show Mason. He’d be the King of Slytherin, and Mason would have to lick his boots! The Malfoys had come over with William the Conqueror! The Vergers were nothing until just a couple generations ago, only a pureblood family with nothing but a Wizengamot title to their name. Then, suddenly, Grandma Verger marries some rich, mysterious Italian, and the family is richer than Croesus! But, not as rich as the Malfoy’s, of course.

“Abbot, Hannah!” Professor McGonagall called.

Draco had heard his parent’s whispers. That Grandpa Verger was not even a Mudblood, but a wealthy Muggle! But no one ever met the man, and Mason’s father was one of the Dark Lord’s most fervent servants, perhaps even surpassing Draco’s aunt, Bellatrix. If you wanted to live, you did not besmirch the Verger’s lineage. At least in anywhere Lord Verger could hear.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” The pathetically worn hat shouted.

“Crabbe, Vincent!”

The hat barely touched Crabbe’s head when it shouted. “HUFFLEPUFF!”

Draco froze, snapped out of his thoughts. _What in Morgana’s name? It’s broken right?_ But no one stopped to fix it. For a moment the Hufflepuff table was silent, until someone decided that any addition to their house was one of theirs, and cheered. McGonagall herded the shocked looking Crabbe in the direction of the Hufflepuff table.

Draco sat there in a stupor as he listened to the names get called in a completely random order.

“Finch-Fletchley, Justin!”

Draco felt very conflicted about the Mudblood boy. On the one hand, the boy was descended from Muggles, not worth the time of day. But on the other, he seemed very well connected. Draco wasn’t sure what his Father would tell him to do.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Draco blinked. Could a Mudblood have just been sorted into Slytherin?! No! It was impossible!

The Slytherin table seemed to agree, sitting there in silent shock. Justin seemed indifferent, holding his head high, and walking over to them.

Draco clutched his head, willing the world to stop.

“Granger, Hermione!”

“RAVENCLAW!” The hat called.

Draco sighed. At least something in the world made sense. He’d just met her, and most of the time she had her nose stuck in a book.

“Goyle, Gregory!”

Draco realized he was holding his breath. _It will all be fine,_ he chanted in his head. Crabbe was a loss, but as father would say, not irreplaceable. No one was irreplaceable. He would just have to make himself King of Slytherin with one minion.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Draco felt his head spin. This was some kind of horrible plot Dumbledore had created! That’s it! Draco realized. Dumbledore was trying to divide the Dark families! Draco shook his head. No, this was a dream. A horrible, horrible dream. He was just anxious that he was leaving home. Yes, in a few minutes, his mother would wake him, and he’d go downstairs to breakfast, enjoy the caviar and egg spread, and it would all be fine. He just had to get through the next few moments, and then he would wake up.

“Malfoy, Draco!”

With newfound peace, Draco strode up to the stool. He was a Malfoy. Even if Crabbe and Goyle messed up—and being honest, they couldn’t do anything right, Draco would uphold the honor of House Malfoy. Sitting down, he confidently placed the hat on his head.

 _Draco Malfoy._ A disembodied voice spoke. _Your family has taught you well._

 _Not Hufflepuff!_ Draco called out in his mind.

 _Such strength in your convictions,_ the voice continued. _Your loyalty to your family is admirable._

_You can’t put me in Hufflepuff! You know where I belong!_

_No, no, as amusing as that would be, there’s more to you than just blind loyalty. The entire world can go mad, and you would never stop fighting for what you believed in._

_I have to stop this madness! Dumbledore’s trying to tear us apart!_

_I see great things in your future._ The voice continued.

_Yes! I’ll get to the bottom of this! Just put me where I belong!_

_I see you are willing to do whatever it takes._

_Yes, yes, you understand!_ Draco nodded effusively.

_Then it shall be…_

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Draco fainted.

_***_

William watched as Professor Dumbledore levitated away Draco’s unconscious body. He was glad Dumbledore had caught his friend before he hit the floor.

“Potter, William!”

The room grew silent in anticipation. William approached the stool. The hat was placed on his head.

 _Interesting, boy of two names, defeater of darkness._ The hat intoned.

 _Good evening hat sir?_ William nervously replied.

_So polite, so seemingly harmless. Yet underneath, your mind whirls away._

_Professor Dumbledore says you’ve sorted everyone since Merlin. Did you meet my parents?_

The hat chuckled. _So clever. Both of them. Both Gryffindor to the core._

 _I’m not sure I want to be in Gryffindor…_ William pondered. _I’ve heard they act first and think later. Planning is important._

_That leaves us with two houses. Ravenclaw or Slytherin. You would do great things in Slytherin. It would be quite the scandal. But no, that would be too expected. People would watch you, you would gain scrutiny. Perhaps its best if you remain the great Harry Potter’s younger brother. No one will expect greatness. You will take the world by surprise._

William blinked in confusion. _What do you mean ‘remain?’_

 _Ah, too clever for your own good. It is time this conversation came to an end. Goodbye boy of two names._ “RAVENCLAW!”

There was a loud applause from the room. William rose and went to join the cheering Ravenclaws, the hat’s final words mulling over in his head. What did it mean by ‘boy of two names?’ William settled into a seat next to Hermione Granger. She flashed him a small smile.

“Verger, Margot!” Professor McGonagall called.

A girl with long brown hair dutifully trudged up to the hat. On her fancy robes pinned a little flag—the same kind Mason Verger wore. William concluded that it was some sort of family emblem.

“SLYTHERIN!”

She smiled, and with a skip in her step, walked over to the Slytherin table, which was clapping enthusiastically. Grinning, she took a seat next to Justin, who was sitting by himself at the end of the table.

“Verger, Mason!”

With his nose stuck in the air, looking just as unpleasant as he did on the train, Mason sauntered up to the hat. He sat down.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Mason jumped up, snatched the hat off his head, and threw it to the floor. With vehement force, he started jumping up and down on top of the hat, crushing its pointed top. Foul words spewed from his mouth.

Professor McGonagall waved her wand, and the hat was yanked out from under Mason, causing him to fall flat on his back. Dumbledore did not catch him. Another flick of the wand, and obscene words ceased flowing from Mason’s mouth, his lips seemingly glued together.

The rest of the sorting went by fairly uneventfully. That obnoxious red-head they met on the train went to Gryffindor. Finally, Dumbledore rose to speak. “Welcome to the start of a new year at Hogwarts! A few announcements before the feast starts. As its name suggests, the Forbidden Forest is off limits. In addition, this year the third corridor is barred. Anyone who ventures into it will surely face a painful death.”

William frowned. What was Professor Dumbledore thinking? Now every Gryffindor was going to try and break in.

***

Severus Bloom collapsed into a chair. He surveyed his new quarters. It was quite nice, a two bedroom apartment, complete with a study and potions set up. Pacing into the bedroom, he started removing his black robes. Grabbing a white night shirt, he walked into the bathroom and started undressing to take a shower.

To his horror, he saw something spelled out across his chest, in bright, sparkling letters.

_Hello Professor_

Severus recoiled. A soulmate? How could it be possible? More troubling, Severus had met so many people that day, he couldn’t remember who had spoke that innocuous phrase. He’d spoken to dozens of people, perhaps even a hundred or more.

Shuddering, he decided it was best if he never mentioned this. There was the chance he wouldn’t have to. If his soulmate was on the faculty, he’d find out soon. Surely it would be the chatter of the faculty lounge tomorrow. But just as a precaution, he’d start wearing gloves. That way if he ever did make physical contact with that person, neither would know. The last thing he wanted was some simpering soul trailing after him, preaching about soulmates and everlasting love. No, his dedication was to Lily Evans.

Merlin forbid what would happen if the students found out. Or Professor McGonagall. All good Slytherins knew she was an incorrigible gossip.

He blanched. Sweet Merlin, he thought, what if it was a student!

***

Gellert Wilhelm Grindelwald coughed, slumping against the hard stone wall. He felt weak, so very weak. Fever wracked his body, burning it from the inside out. He knew time had come. He was dying. It was only a matter of time, locked in this small cell, with no fresh air and the ever-growing smell of mildew.

Distantly, he heard the screeching sound of the heavy metal door. Through blurred vision, he could see Dumbledore standing in the entryway. A bitter smile painfully flicked across his face. Dumbledore had always been an eccentric dresser, but as time went on, the man’s love affair with plaid grew more torrid. Even through blurred vision, Gellert could make out Dumbledore’s pomegranate and puce plaid robes, and matching hat. 

“Will, how pleasant to see you.” The man spoke warmly, as if he was seeing Gellert out shopping, not on his deathbed.

“I can’t say the same.” Gellert broke into a coughing fit.

“I heard you were unwell. I came immediately.”

Gellert snorted. “Can’t you let me die in peace?”

“Now, now,” the man chided. “No need for dramatics. Drink this.”

Gellert looked at him in derision. “Why on earth would I drink something _you_ gave me?”

“Because it will heal you.” Dumbledore said without inflection.

Gellert looked at him blankly. “You know there’s nothing that will heal me. The prison healers already tried.”

“The Elixir of Life will.”

Gellert looked at him in shock. “You have the Philosopher’s stone? Did you kill Flamel too! Oh don’t you tell me, you managed to blame it on me!”

Dumbledore chuckled, a wide smile on his face. Gellert shivered. He missed those rare occasions when Dumbledore laughed, smiled, or chuckled. They were rare, treasures to be carefully coveted. “You still haven’t lost your humor. Kill Flamel? Hardly. He gave it to me of his own free will.”

“Of course he did.” Gellert bitterly scoffed, there was nothing he could do. The world seemed convinced that Dumbledore was Merlin incarnate. If Dumbledore ordered them to sacrifice their newborns for The Greater Good, many wizards and witches willingly would.

“I knew you were sick.” Dumbledore crouched down next to Gellert, inspecting his pale visage. “It only took some minor convincing for him to hand it over for protection.”

“Let me guess. Someone tried to steal the stone?”

A predatory glint crossed Dumbledore’s eyes. Gellert felt his heart flutter. Even after all these years, after all these betrayals, Dumbledore’s brilliance was intoxicating. It was a drug, but the best high Gellert had ever found. Nothing could replace it.

“How will you keep it safe at Hogwarts?” Gellert averted his gaze, lest Dumbledore realize his spellbinding effect.

“The faculty set up a series of challenges guarding the stone.”

“And you think that will keep someone away?” Gellert snorted. “Perhaps you _are_ loosing your touch.” Gellert couldn’t help but tease.

“Hardly. I’ve set up an alarm system. If anyone enters the first room, it will notify me. The challenges are merely there to delay the thief.”

Gellert nodded solemnly. Dumbledore had thought of everything. Just like before. The sad things was, he hadn’t even seen Dumbledore’s betrayal coming. One day he’d discovered he was Europe’s most wanted, and was on the run. He didn’t even know Dumbledore was behind it until after the infamous duel. When he’d been knocked unconscious, bound in magical ropes, and dragged to prison, he awoke to see Dumbledore smiling. A horrible, smug smile that still haunted his dreams. It was then Dumbledore confessed that it was all him. And as Gellert was an experienced Legilimens, he couldn’t testify to it, and no one would believe him. Just thinking about it, he could feel the crushing weight of betrayal.

“Don’t you want me to die?” Gellert suddenly spoke. “You’ve already condemned me to a half death. Locked in this tiny room, with nothing, no visitors except you—I welcome the freedom of death.”

“Will, I don’t want you to die.” Dumbledore moved closer and reached out touched Gellert’s cheek.

Gellert almost recoiled at the touch. It was the first human touch he’d had in….he couldn’t remember. The hand was warm, so warm…

“Your condition is dire. Unicorn blood would also suffice, but I would never condemn you to a cursed life.” His other hand reached up to cradle Gellert’s face, and he moved closer. Gellert could feel the man’s warm breath on his forehead. “I would do anything to protect you.” Dumbledore whispered, leaning forward and kissing Gellert’s forehead.

Gellert shuddered. It’d been over fifty years since those lips had touched him. And despite fifty years, he still responded. He could feel himself melting into Dumbledore’s touch.

Just as he started to relax, Dumbledore sharply pulled away. Gellert suppressed a gasp. He wanted to call for Dumbledore to come back, don’t let go! Not yet! Instead, he looked wide eyed up at the man. He was too strong to beg.

Dumbledore reached into his robe and removed a vial of silvery liquid. “Now, drink this Will.” He lovingly brought the vial to Gellert’s lips.

Gellert swallowed. He could feel the warm liquid, almost viscous, slide down his throat and into his stomach. He could feel his head lighten, his vision slowly starting to return.

Dumbledore stepped back, pocketing the vial. “Goodbye Will. I shall return next week with more.”

 

And a sneak peak for next time…

As far as Dumbledore was concerned, the sorting was marvelous. The Dark was nicely fractured between Houses, and Slytherin would hopefully see a revival as a proper house. For the last several decades, it had turned into a cesspit of spoiled, unambitious fools, merely riding on the coattails of their family names.

As he strolled down the hallway towards his office, he was approached by a rather harried Minerva Du Maurier McGonagall“I’m sorry, they insisted on coming in person. They’re in your office. I couldn’t stop them.”

“Oh?” Dumbledore casually remarked.

“Lord Verger and Malfoy. They were quite insistent. Furious actually.”

“I expected this.” Dumbledore smirked, turning towards his office, and instructing the Gargoyle to move. It seemed both men had used the Ministry appointed floo. It was the only floo with a direct connection to his office.

With a dramatic flourish of his brown and blue plaid robes, Dumbledore entered. The noise of clicking clocks and whirring wheels puttered in the background. Moving paintings hung on the walls, they’re eyes all skeptically eyeing the two men sitting on the other side of the headmaster’s desk.

Lord Verger and Lord Malfoy had pushed their chairs as far away as they politely could. Their seething bubbled throughout the room. Even Fawkes had moved to perch on the back of a chair on the opposite side of the room.

With a mischievous grin, Dumbledore took a seat at his desk. “Ah, Lord Malfoy, Lord Verger. What a pleasant surprise to see you both in the same room.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up:  
> Draco and Mason disagree  
> Harry tries to help  
> It all goes to hell


	3. The Duel

Draco sat on the stone window sill in front of a large stained glass window. He buried his head in his hands, fighting back tears of frustration and rage. Around him stood a very concerned William, Neville, and Hermione.

“It’s all ok. Gryffindor’s a great house! My parents were in Gryffindor!” William tried to comfort, placing his hand on Draco’s shoulder. Draco flinched at the touch.

“Slytherin didn’t seem that great anyway,” added the know-it-all Muggle-born. “They seemed like a bunch of bigots.”

“It doesn’t matter what house you’re in. We’re here for you.” Neville smiled warmly.

Draco looked up at them, as if seeing them for the first time. “Oh Merlin!” he wailed. “I’m being comforted by a Potter, a Longbottom, and a Muggle-born! What would father say!”

Hermione looked affronted. Casting an eye at William, she curtly spoke, “We should go to Charms. We’re going to be late.”

Draco fought back a sniffle. “I have potions with Hufflepuffs! What will Uncle Bloom say! I’m in _Gryffindor_!”

Hermione rolled her eyes, patience wearing thin. “I’m not going to be late on the first day of classes. See you there, William.” She briskly turned and walked away.

“Come on Draco.” Neville comforted, lightly pulling on Draco’s robe. “It’s not all bad. We’re in the same house.”

“Great.” Draco said, sarcasm snapping from his tongue. “Just what father wants to hear. I’m in the same house as _Neville Longbottom_.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Neville furrowed his brow in confusion.

William intervened. “Don’t Neville. Just don’t. He’s distressed. He’s just lashing out. Come on Draco.”

They started walking down the corridor. Luckily, Charms and Potions were in the same direction. Passing a group of students, they turned to take the stairs, and Draco fell face first down the entire flight. He landed at the bottom with a loud thunk. Neville and William rushed down as fast as they could. Draco clutched his head, blood oozing from his nose.

William didn’t have to look around to find the culprit. Mere feet away, Mason was cackling like a demon possessed.

Dizzily standing up, Draco wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve. “What did you do that for?” He shouted up the stairs.

“Do what?” Mason smirked, walking down to join them. The crowd of students had now dispersed, deciding they wanted nothing to do with this impending mess. “Having trouble not walking in heels? I’m sure your father taught you well.”

“Liar! Just like your family! A bunch of Italian crooks!” Draco snarled. Blood continued to drip from his nostrils.

“Didn’t you tell me you’d be in Slytherins like all Malfoys? I guess I was right about your mother.”

“Mason, I think you should stop…” William tried to interject, moving between the two boys.

“Don’t you talk about my mother!” Draco shouted over William.

“Your mother’s a sloppy cunt!” Mason gleefully shouted back, now mere feet away.

Apoplectic, Draco lunged at Mason only to be stopped by Neville and William. “And your grandmother married a Muggle!” Draco screamed.

Mason stepped forward, and slapped Draco hard across the face. “I demand satisfaction!”

William restrained Draco tighter, preventing him from bashing Mason on the head. “Calm down!” William yelled. “Everyone calm down!”

“How dare you besmirch the honor of House Verger!” Mason shrieked. “I challenge you to a duel! The Trophy Room, tonight at midnight! Bring a second!”

“I accept your challenge!” Draco shouted, struggling against William and Neville’s strong grip, as they held him back.

“I look forward to cleaning your guts off the floor.” Mason grinned, before turning and stomping away.

“Count to ten Draco,” Neville stated, trying to sound calming. “Count to ten, breath in, breath out…that’s what Gran always says.”

“That…that…” Draco was at a loss for words. “Vermin! Cockroach! Chizpurfle!”

“You didn’t have to accept his duel…” Neville sighed.

“Yes I did! The Honor of House Malfoy depends on it!” Draco suddenly collapsed to the ground. “Oh Merlin! I don’t really know any offensive spells!”

William glanced around the hall, making sure there were no eavesdroppers. “Surely you learned some…before you got your wand…officially that is…”

Draco nodded. “But nothing dangerous. Mother insisted on keeping things safe. I can polish silver!”

“I don’t think you can polish Mason…” Neville frowned.

“Maybe polish his mouth?” William offered in a helpful tone.

“Did you learn?” Draco asked Neville and William desperately.

Neville shook his head. “Gran was really strict. Said the ministry rules were there for a reason, and it would give me an unfair advantage over the Muggleborns. But we can read up!”

William nervously tightened his expression. “Uncle Bloom taught me a few defensive spells. Professor Dumbledore taught me how to trip someone. They said I wasn’t ready for anything more, but that since I’m so well known, I should know how to protect myself.”

Draco looked up at William, eyes bright. “Professor Dumbledore taught you? Himself?”

“Yeah,” William nonchalantly replied. “He’s really good!”

“Could you be my second?” The words tumbled out of Draco’s mouth.

William sighed. He couldn’t say no. This was going to be a long night.

***

William frowned. Draco still wasn’t here. They all stood in the darkened trophy room, only illuminated by the low glow of the dim magical lights floating along the sides of the multiple doors exiting the room. As it was after hours, all the lights in the castle had been dimmed only to glow for the barest safety. The lack of light was not helped by the dark green curtains, framing the windows looking out into the dark night sky. Large silver and gold trophies surrounded the room. Some were on shelves, others behind glass.

“He’s only late because of me!” Neville’s shout broke the awkward silence as he and Draco ran into the room.

“I told you stay back!” Draco snapped.

William groaned. Now it seemed like a third of the boys in his year were here. Looming in the doorway, or doing the best a 11 year old boy could do to loom, Crabbe and Goyle flicked their eyes nervously between Mason and Draco. They seemed torn between loyalties to their former master, and loyalties to their new housemate. In the far corner, Mason was giggling to himself and twitchily darting about the room, muttering unpleasant things about Draco’s innards. Finally a very anxious looking Ernie McMillian watched the proceedings. Somehow, the quiet Hufflepuff had ended up as Mason’s second. William wondered what blackmail, bribery, or threats resulted in _that_ happening. Or maybe it was just another case of misplaced house loyalty.

“I’m not going to let you sneak out on your own.” Neville stodgily replied. “It could be a trap!”

“Yes, because you’d be _oh so much_ help in a trap.” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Is little Drakey a coward?” Mason grinned, darting forward. “Didn’t think you were going to show.”

“Let’s just get this over with.” William intervened. The last thing he wanted was for there to be _another_ duel to avenge the honor of the fight that happened before _this_ duel.

“I will count.” Goyle proclaimed.

“Crabbe, go watch outside.” Mason ordered.

The fat boy started for the door.

“Hey! You can’t take orders from him!” Draco shouted.

Crabbe furrowed his brow. “Sorry Master. What should Crabbe do?”

“Go watch outside!” Draco snapped, turning to Mason he jeered. “You’re going to regret this you two-bit pasta loving thug!”

“Oooh, scary words, you pretty ponce!”

“Alright! Stop!” William intervened. It was best to get this over quickly. “Now let’s start the duel. Draco, Mason, backs to each other, 15 paces in opposite directions.” William was glad he’d listened to Draco’s quick recap of basic duel ettiequte. “Now turn around. Bow.”

Mason did a mocking little curtsy, as Draco bowed, muttering something under his breath about the honor of House Malfoy. William listened as Goyle tried to count backwards. It was proving difficult.

“5...um…4…3….uh…2…and 1!”

Draco raised his wand, and shot off a stinging hex.

“DIEEEEEEE MOTHERFUCKER!!!” Mason screamed as he charged, brandishing a metal switchblade. Draco stumbled back, almost dropped his wand, and turned and fled.

Instantly, William and Neville sprung forward, raising their wands.

“Stop! Stop both of you! You’ll void the duel!” Ernie shouted, raising his wand to stop them both.

Neville turned and sent sparks in Ernie’s direction. Ernie jumped out of theway as the sparks hit the ground and turned the carpet black. William focused on stopping Mason, who was chasing Draco in a large circle around the room. But shooting a moving target was harder than William realized. His quick evening skimming of basic emergency offensive spells, was proving far less useful than he’d hoped.

William shot out the first spell that came to mind. It flew wide, hitting a trophy. To his horror, he realized the trophies were resilient to magic, and reflective, sending the red sparks ricocheting back. He threw himself on the ground, barely as the sparks flew over his head.

“The trophies—” William never had a chance to finish. The room lit up like an epileptic’s nightmare. Beams and sparks of light flashed through the room, blinding its occupants as they bounced from trophy to trophy.

Ernie fell over in a screech, his legs collapsing under him. Neville started barfing up green goo. One of the curtains caught fire. A blast of pink light shot from Draco’s wand, illuminating several of the more tarnished trophies into silver brilliance. William was crawling on the floor, still shooting sparks at Mason. But Mason continued to chase Draco, oblivious to the fact his tongue was swelling up to the size of a balloon. However, it did make his insults and profanity unintelligible.

Suddenly, Crabbe tore into the room. “It’s Filch! He’s coming!”

All six boys ran for the exits. William saw Goyle toss the useless Ernie over his shoulder and run for the door. Reaching the stone corridor, William fled, hoping he could return to Ravenclaw tower before he got caught.

***

Draco ran down the corridor, fleeing the yowls of Mrs. Norris. Turning left and right, he wove madly through the castle. He ducked down some stairs, and scuttled up another staircase.

Finally, he realized he was completely lost. How on earth was he supposed to get back to Gryffindor Tower? He wasn’t even sure what floor he was on. Panting, he pulled into a classroom. He just needed a moment to think. He shut the door quietly behind him, scared to alert any authorities, Filch or otherwise. He slumped down, sinking to the floor, and surveyed the room.

It was an empty classroom, the room coated in a thick layer of dust. White tarps covered the unused furniture. The room seemed completely abandoned, forgotten in the annals of time, save for one large ornate mirror. The frame was gold, and on it inscribed, _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

Draco stood up, and dusted off his robes. He carefully approached the mirror, and gazed into its glassy surface. To his surprise, he saw not only himself, but his parents. They seemed happy, and proud. But even Draco wasn’t himself. He was older, and wearing the green trimmed robes of Slytherin house, the badge of Head Boy pinned on his robes. His father actually _beamed_ down at him, as he placed his hand on Draco’s shoulder.

Tears started flowing down Draco’s cheeks as he collapsed in front of the mirror. It only it was true! But no, it was never to be. He would never be in Slytherin. He was a stain on House Malfoy, just like he couldn’t even properly beat Mason Verger in a duel. His parents hadn’t even responded to his letter home.

Sobs wracked his body as he glanced up in at the mirror, the mirror that held, just out of grasp, what he truly wanted.

***

Sometime later, William staggered, exhausted, into the Ravenclaw dormitory. He could feel his blood pumping, and was experiencing something similar to an adrenaline high. Having chased around a madboy armed with a switchblade, trying to stop him from ‘shanking’ one of his friends, and then running from the authorities, William felt rather…what was the term…ghetto. It was like that American music he heard played while wandering around Muggle London with Uncle Bloom.

“William? There you are!” Hermione greeted with a worried expression on her face. She was sitting in a comfortable blue and bronze striped chair, which she had turned away from the fireplace to face the door.

“Hermione? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Charms homework—but the other boyssaid you weren’t here. So I concluded you had to be outside, and would return.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

She shook her head. “Where were you? You realize you’re not allowed out after hours? What if they took points? The year has barely started!”

William sighed. “I was keeping Mason Verger from killing Draco.”

Hermione went quiet, before making a face in disgust. “Mason? He’s awful. Earlier today I saw him trying to convince two girls that he killed their pet owls, and stuffed a body pillow with their feathers.”

“This is getting out of hand.” William murmured. “We cannot let him continue this rude behavior.”

Hermione scrunched up her face in thought. “There has to be some magic we can use. Nothing too harmful of course.” She hastily added. “But something to teach him a lesson…Oh! I know!” Her eyes lit up. “It’s called Pavlovian Conditioning. We just need some type of magic, that each time he does something rude, it triggers. Eventually, he’ll subconsciously learn to stop being rude, to avoid the punishment.”

William grinned. There was only one problem. “But we don’t know any good spells, potions, or curses.”

It was Hermione’s turn to smile. “You know what this means William? We’re going to the library.”

***

The sun was almost coming up when Draco Malfoy slunk back into the Gryffindor Tower. He’d spent hours in front of the strange mirror, only finally realizing he needed to try and find a way back to Gryffindor Tower before breakfast. Summoning up his courage, he decided that even if he wasn’t in Slytherin, he could still make his parents proud. He carefully remembered the location of the classroom. He would return later.

With a sigh, he closed the portrait of the Fat Lady behind him, and jumped in surprise to see Neville sitting in a chair staring right at him. Dark circles underlined the chubby boy’s eyes, betraying his lack of sleep.

“What are you doing out here?” Draco yelped.

“Waiting for you. What took you so long? I thought Filch got you.”

“I got lost. I don’t know about the others.”

Neville groaned. “If one of us got caught and talks…we’re all in so much trouble. If I get expelled…I don’t think I can face Gran…”

“I suppose we will find out at breakfast.” Draco stiffly replied, not wanting to think about his own parent’s reactions to his potential expulsion. He glanced at the clock hanging above the common room’s stone fireplace. “Which is in…less than two hours.”

“I guess I should get some sleep.” Neville rose.

Draco stomped over towards the fireplace. At this hour only the barest of embers remained, glowing in the dark charred dust.

“You’re not coming?”

“No. I have to think. Mason made a mockery of a duel, and the Malfoy family honor. I will reap my revenge.” Draco snickered as he started thinking of all the ways he could sabotage the male Verger.

“Whatever you say Draco. I’m going to bed.”

Draco was too busy giggling to himself to notice Neville trudge up the stairs to the boys dormitories. Mason Verger would pay. He would suffer. He would be made a fool. He would remember the superiority of House Malfoy!

***

“Foiled!” Lord Voldemort shouted from the back of Quirinus Quirrel’s head. “All that shouting and running about! We almost got caught!”

Quirinus Quirrel stood in the bathroom of his quarters. His turban was off, and the mirrors above the sink open and tilted towards each other so they could talk face to face, as it were.

“Tonight was the night!” Voldemort continued ranting. “Take the stone and quit this job!” Quirrel’s left arm wildly gesticulated in fury.

“I t-t-thought you wanted to t-t-teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Quirrel queried, his right arm making calming gestures.

“I wanted to teach! Not sit on the back of your head under a sweaty rag while you flounder, you stuttering simpleton!” Voldemort threw up Quirrel’s left arm in disgust. “Now I have to stay and continue teaching! I’ve only taught one class! With first year Hufflepuffs! What has changed? Hufflepuffs weren’t like that when I went to Hogwarts!”

“I don’t know. It’s n-n-never been like t-t-this before.” Quirrel placated with his right arm.

Voldemort gritted his teeth. “Dumbledore did something. It seems like half my follower’s heirs are in Hufflepuff.” Voldemort snarled. “Crabbe and Goyle Senior were never men of many words, but their sons seem barely able to communicate in the English language. And the Verger heir! Lord Verger was a wolf. His son is just rabid.”

“Maintaining c-c-class discipline will be d-d-difficult this year.” Quirrel agreed.

“ _Crucio_ the lot of them! That will teach them! And what happened to Severus! Are you sure that is Severus Bloom? He’s _bathed_.” Voldemort sneered.

Quirrel nodded. The sudden up and down movement made Voldemort look slightly ill. “He’s been in r-r-recluse for several years, r-r-raising the young William Potter.”

“I don’t remember seeing a second Potter, or hearing about a new born son! Did Dumbledore kidnap a random child and claim he was a Potter? No one believes me, but the old coot is a manipulative bastard. Is this some plan to get his hands on the Potter family’s fortune?” Voldemort tapped his fingers on the countertop in thought. “It is of no matter. A Potter is a Potter. If we can, we will kill him. But first, we must get the stone. ”

“I will t-t-try harder.” Quirrel whimpered. “I cannot wait for you to be free and then I can r-r-return to my humble life.”

“Oh,” Voldemort sneered. “Trust me, I enjoy my present state far less than you do.”

“Y-y-yes Master.” Quirrel shuddered.

A thin smile crossed Voldemort’s face. “We will just have to try again.”

***

Mozart’s Paris Symphony played in the background, as Dumbledore stood in the expansive kitchen tucked away in his quarters. He had always appreciated Muggle music and Muggle art. With the vast Muggle population, there was such a large variety of music to choose from. Wizarding music was simple in comparison, dominated by pureblood youths rebelling against their parents. It was just so…incestuous.

The scent of broth floated over the air, emanating from a large _All-Clad_ stock pot. The pot sat on a _Viking_ stove, heated by easily adjustable magical flames. A large silver enchanted standing mixer stood on one end of the lovely travertine tile counter. It had been with great difficulty to integrate the electricity with the magic of the castle. It was a good thing Arthur Weasley couldn’t see this room.

Dumbledore had always detested how Wizards seemed obsessed with the cauldron and hearth. Even the wealthiest Wizarding families used antiquated appliances, relying on magic to make them better. Dumbledore preferred to use high end Muggle appliances and use magic to improve them.

He walked over to his self-sorting spice rack. With a simple thought, the rack rotated, revealing a little jar of peppercorns. Taking the jar, he walked over to the stock pot. The stock was gently simmering, the aroma of celery, carrots, and bay leaves permeating the air. He carefully tipped a few peppercorns into the broth.

Taking the ladle, he tested the stock. Closing his eyes, he let the beefy flavor of the broth saturate his pallet. His experiments had proven worthwhile. Vernon Dursley’s beefy leg bone provided ample flavor to the broth, in a way that Petunia could never do justice.

Placing the ladle back down, he reflected on Gellert, or Will as he called him. Despite giving Will the elixir of life, Will still looked weak. The man needed proper nourishment. The years locked away had not invigorated the man.

He didn’t know exactly why he had decided to visit Will after all these years. It was easier to just pretend Will didn’t exist, except safe in an abstract sense. But, in his age, he’d grown nostalgic, and missed Will’s easy company. Will was the only man who ever truly understood him. Oh, some rare people would understand aspects of him, but no one understood him with that full, encompassing, acceptation like Will.

If Dumbledore was less composed, he would feel guilty. But, there had been no other choice. Will had developed far too much independence, and learned far too much about the Deathly Hallows. When Dumbledore heard that Will had succeeded in obtaining the Elder Wand, he knew he had to act. Unknown to anyone, the wand was now safely his, Will locked away, the secret safe.

The bone broth was done. Dumbledore vanished the copious amounts of fat. That was the downside of using Vernon over Petunia. He then transferred the liquid into several smaller containers, each magically charmed to keep the liquid heated.

After he’d cleaned the kitchen, he’d have to return to his office. No doubt there would be a disgustingly large pile of angry correspondence waiting for him. It was unfortunate, if not unexpected, that so many prominent pure-blood families were unhappy with the results of this year’s sorting. Why he should be held responsible for their parental failures, Dumbledore did not understand.

He did not look forward for the upcoming Board of Governors’ meeting. The sorting topic was sure to dominate the conversation. Perhaps it was time to distract them. He just needed a useful idiot to derail the conversation. Luckily, there were several on the Board. Perhaps Amos Diggory? Dumbledore mused. Yes, that was it. He would just convince Diggory to propose mandatory Muggle Studies and Wizarding Culture classes for all students. Wrap the plan up in the idea of cross-cultural understanding. It was bound to anger both the Light and the Dark. Dumbledore looked forward to watching Lucius Malfoy barely contain his spitting rage and struggle to keep his public image of calm, collected, control. Dumbledore considered needling the man one of the little joys in life.

However, the Board of Governors would surely balk at hiring another professor. To save costs, Diggory could just propose they use the current Muggle Studies Professor, and for Wizarding Culture, use one of the currently under-utilized staff. Perhaps Professor Trelawney? Yes, this idea will keep all sides busy next meeting, and destroy any chance of an inquiry into the Sorting Hat.

***

For the first time in weeks, Gellert was able to stand. Weakly, and with assistance of the wall, but he was standing on his own two feet. He felt 20 years younger. His vision had improved. He didn’t even need the glasses they’d taken away all those years ago. Touching his head, he could feel hair returning. He wished there was a mirror in his cell. But his captors were worried that he might hurt himself with it. Why they didn’t just cast an unbreakable charm on it, Gellert didn’t understand. He figured it was just another form of torture, specifically designed by Dumbledore. Unable to see himself for decades, he had no sense of self.

He flexed his hands. They looked younger, color had returned, no longer bony and frail. The Elixir of Life was a miracle. He was envious at the ease Dumbledore had convinced Flamel to part with his life’s work. No doubt Dumbledore was churning out an endless supply of gold to expand his coffers and partaking in the Elixir himself. But he had to be much more careful of his dosage. It wouldn’t do for a figure as public as Dumbledore to de-age. People would talk.

The heavy metal door opened with a screech. Standing in the doorway, Dumbledore cocked his head in surprise.

“Out of bed already?”

With his newly corrected vision, Gellert winced at Dumbledore’s fashion choice. Garish purple and orange striped robes. He remembered the days when Dumbledore was a very dapper dresser, cutting a handsome figure across all the other wizards. Gellert never understood fashion. Dumbledore always teased him that he looked like some poor researcher, with worn flannel robes and his head in the clouds.

Researching. That’s what he’d been doing before he became Europe’s Most Wanted. He and Dumbledore had decided to embark on finding the Deathly Hallows. Dumbledore was following a lead in Great Britain, and Gellert was seeking the Elder Wand on the Continent. He’d found it, defeating a crazed old hag to claim his prize. Next thing he knew, his face was plastered at every transit station in Europe, and he was on the run.

“You can’t expect me to stay in bed all day.” Gellert replied.

“Au contraire. You must conserve your strength. Let me help you.” Dumbledore moved closer to him. Gellert instinctively took a step back. He tripped on uneven cobblestone floor, but before he could topple over, Dumbledore moved in, catching him in a strong embrace. Gently, Dumbledore maneuvered Gellert back onto the bed.

“Look, I just want to take a shower.” Gellert said. “The bed’s rather disgusting.”

Dumbledore waved a hand, and the crackly yellow sheets turned bright white. Another wave of the hand, and Gellert was completely clean, and smelled lightly of cedar and pine. Gellert tensed his brow. That was the scent of the soap he always used. Dumbledore always commented how much he loved the smell.

Dumbledore deftly tucked Gellert into bed. Defiantly, Gellert sat up. Dumbledore sighed, and removed a vial from his robes. “Drink this. Your strength will continue to return.”

Nodding, Gellert took the vial from the man’s hands. Carefully, he tipped his head back and allowed the silvery liquid to fall down his throat. It was slightly warm, and tingled. “Why do you care?” Gellert suddenly asked.

“I’ve always cared.” Dumbledore replied, pocketing the vial. From another pocket, he removed a spoon and a large container of…soup? “Beef broth. I was going to make you a stew, but with your condition it would be wise to start carefully.”

Gellert looked at Dumbledore in disbelief, but his sharp words was cut off by the mesmerizing scent. He reached out and took the container in both hands. It had been magically charmed to retain heat, but not burn the hands of the holder. Despite better judgement, Gellert took the spoon and took a sip.

He closed his eyes. It was the Platonic ideal of beef broth. The broth was salty, complex, he could taste the complementary notes of onions and carrots. After all these decades, eating only slop, he’d forgotten what real food tasted like. Morgana how he’d missed Dumbledore’s cooking. An image of a happier time, when they lived together in Godric’s Hollow came to mind. Dumbledore in the kitchen, his perfect blonde hair and charming smile. Gellert sitting in the brown leather chair in the corner of the kitchen, reading a book and occasionally interjecting the sarcastic comment.

“I see you enjoy it.”

Gellert could hear Dumbledore’s smile. He blinked his eyes open. “Oh, no,” he sarcastically drawled. “It’s truly terrible.”

Dumbledore moved to take the container away. “I can always get more slop, I mean porridge, that they feed you.”

With surprising alacrity for a weakened man, Gellert jerked forward and yanked the container out of Dumbledore hands, greedily returning to drinking the broth.

“So you do enjoy it.” Dumbledore smirked.

“Oh, stop it.” Gellert grumbled. He couldn’t let himself become too comfortable with their easy banter.

Dumbledore took a seat on the edge of Gellert’s bed. Gellert studiously avoided the man’s piercing brown eyes, eyes that always seemed to strike through the soul. Yet, he could see the man’s wistful expression.

Oh Merlin, Gellert thought, how he missed the man. Even with his white hair and age, Dumbledore still held that mesmeric quality. But part of Gellert despised his desperation. He knew it was only exacerbated by decades of isolation.

Yet, now staring up at Dumbledore’s kindly visage, Gellert couldn’t help but wonder. Coming to him with soup, all charm and charisma, after years of ignoring him. Gellert couldn’t tell if the man actually cared, or if this was one of the man’s twisted games. Perhaps after all these years, Dumbledore had grown bored, and missing the challenge, wanted to create new and interesting ways to torment him. As much as Gellert wanted to surrender to Dumbledore’s adoring attention, he knew that he would only get hurt. No, if Dumbledore was going to play the game, he would play the game too.

***

And a sneak peak for next time:

“What were you doing in the trophy room?” Filch shouted at a cornered Mason Verger. By now Mason’s tongue had returned to its normal size. “I heard others!” Filch continued. “Who else was with you?”

“Snitches get stitches!” Mason shouted, rushing Filch in an attempt to get past him.

Filch sic’d Mrs. Norris on him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Halloween!!


	4. Halloween Part 1

Severus surveyed the Great Hall. The Hall was decorated in black and orange bunting, with floating Jack O’Lanterns and candles. The celling was the night sky. Black clouds shifted around a glowing red moon. The castle ghosts swirled about the room, as eerie orchestra music emanated from the aether. Upon the tables laid a feast fit for kings. Large rounds of roast beef, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pastries, hot rolls, and some steamed vegetables no one touched. There were also several types of desert, treacle tarts, pumpkin pies, pecan pies, chocolate tarts….the list went on.

Scanning the room, he saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, the one Muggleborn in Slytherin sitting by himself at the end of his table. The boy seemed to be dealing with the ostracization well. He held his head high. But Severus could see a mixture of contempt and calculation in the boy’s eyes. He’d have to keep a close eye on Finch-Fletchley.

Unfortunately, Finch-Fletchley was the source of a lot of Severus’ pain these days. Severus was absolutely flooded in letters from concerned and angry parents about the placement of a Muggleborn in Slytherin. Some felt the boy’s heritage besmirched the noble house. Other’s, like the Weasley’s, worried about the boy’s environment—that he’d be bullied or worse corrupted. Of course, Severus was not the intended recipient for all these letters. Dumbledore was. Yet somehow, it was Severus who found himself forced to reply.

“Have some Firewhiskey.” Minerva replied, pulling out a small flask from inside her robes, “You look like you need some.” She tipped a hearty amount into Severus’ goblet. “It’s unfortunate that Albus is far too professional to imbibe in public. Did you know, he has quite the wine cellar.”

“Oh?” Severus politely replied. Severus reached out, and brushed his hand against her’s as she removed the flask from his goblet. He skin was cold. To his relief, she was not his soul mate.

“I never knew Muggle French wine was so excellent. Far surpasses our British Wizarding Wine. I can’t get enough of it now.” The slightest hint of a smile crossed the witch’s usually severe visage.

Severus was unsurprised. He knew first hand, (he shuddered), of Dumbledore’s culinary expertise. And of course, Dumbledore would introduce _more_ kinds of liquor to Minerva. She already had a reputation among the faculty of being a bit of a lush off hours.

“Yes, European wine is lovely.” Severus replied, thoughts in his own head. So Minerva wasn’t his soulmate. It was difficult, as he couldn’t just come out and say he had a soulmate. Minerva and Dumbledore were incurable gossips. But he’d managed to contrive reasons to make skin contact with most of the faculty. Even Filius Flitwick, and _Hagrid_. Severus cringed. That had been a horrid thought. It couldn’t be any of the student’s parents, as he didn’t meet them that day, coming straight to Hogwarts. It couldn’t be Dumbledore, thank God, as he’d already met the man. That only left Quirrel, Trelawney, or God forbid, one of the students. That idea made him ill. He’d taken to wearing gloves during all his classes and interactions with students.

“If I can in-interrupt , you r-r-raised William Potter?” Quirrel asked, leaning closer. Minerva’s goal of spiking Severus’ drink over, she turned back to her conversation with Filius.

Severus Bloom turned to face the twitchy Defense professor. It was like an Italian Restaurant he smelled so strongly of garlic. “Yes.” He tersely replied.

“He seems quite precocious. I didn’t know the Potters had another son, so soon after their first.”

“They did.” Severus replied, poking at the mashed potatoes.

“They were so beloved by all. It came as such a surprise to learn they had a second son.”

Severus made a non-committal sound and took a bite of roast beef.

“They took _us_ _all_ by surprise.” Quirrel repeated with emphasis.

“Yes.” Severus replied, hoping the Defense Professor would stop pestering him. It was just his luck that they ended up seated next to each other again. It seemed like every time he interacted with the man, Quirrel wanted to talk about the Potters. Severus drolly continued. “We were all lucky that they managed to protect their remaining son, and contrived to have the Dark Lord blown up by a baby.”

Quirrel started twitching uncontrollably.

Severus thought to ask the man if he was well, and thought better of it. The Defense position was cursed. Nothing Severus could do would prevent Quirrel’s unfortunate exit come the end of the year. The current lead in the faculty’s betting pool was that Quirrel would suffer a nervous breakdown by the end of the year.

“I…I…think I’ll just step out for some air…” the Defense professor rose and quietly slipped out of the Great Hall.

Severus took a hearty glug of his Fire-whiskey spiked pumpkin juice.

BANG! echoed the hall. Severus dropped the goblet into his plate, creating a pumpkin juice gravy. Instinctively, he reached for his wand.

***

William Potter jolted in his seat. All of the professors had their wands drawn, and were pointing them at a dark cloud swirling in the center of the Great Hall. Slowly, a short figure slowly started to emerge from the cloud. It was a humanoid figure, but short, possibly shorter than Professor Flitwick.

The figure was clad in full Dragon-hide armor, with glowing runes engraved on its gauntlets. Aloft, it held a wand in its right hand, and a large shining sword in its left, pistol holstered on its right hip, a leather pouch on its left. A silver shield, also emblazoned with glowing runes, protectively floated around the creature. Slung across its chest, hung a bandolier stuffed with brightly colored potions and knives. Its face and neck was obscured by a Dragon-hide helmet. Only it’s eyes were visible, through the raised visor. As the creature surveyed the room, stopping to look at William.

William noticed its two eyes. One was large and bulbous, the other—it spun anatomically free. It jolted right, left, behind, around, magically checking the space around him.

“Oh Exalted Professor Dumbledore!” It spoke in an oddly high and squeaky voice. “I did not realize I would arrive here.” Its eye spun wildly. “It is good to see so many of you alive.”

“And who might we welcome to our illustrious feast?” Professor Dumbledore calmly stated, lowering his wand, and gesturing for the rest of the faculty to do likewise.

“Just a wandering penitent, far from home.”

“Why don’t we continue this conversation in private?” Professor Dumbledore turned to the faculty. “Professors McGonogal, Flitwick, Bloom, Please come with me.” He clapped his hands together. “Professor Sprout, please see that Prefects escort their houses back to their dormitories.”

***

Draco watched in disgust as Ron Weasley snatched up several remaining pumpkin pastries and shoved them into his robe pockets. Yet, something bothered him. Something about that mysterious creature. It seemed…familiar. Then it struck him.

“Dobby?” Draco cried in shock.

“What the hell is a Dobby?” Weasley sneered, stuffing some pastry into his mouth.

“My house elf!” Draco snapped back. “It’s my house elf!”

Weasley rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re so filthy rich you have a house elf. Well, you’re never going to see him again! Everyone knows your parents are going to disown you!”

“They wouldn’t do that!” Draco suppressed a desperate wail.

“Oh I know,” Ron laughed, exposing the half-chewed orange filling in his mouth. “You gave your house elf a wand! Is this what you Pure bloods think we Light Wizards do? What will you do next? Arm Goblins? Well it’s not fooling anyone! You’ll never belong in Gryffindor!”

“You…you…” Draco was at a loss for word. Turning, he fled out of the Great Hall and as far away from Gryffindor Tower as he could.

***

With a calculating eye, Margot Verger observed the interaction between the Malfoy heir and the Weasley offspring. Hogwarts’ wards were supposedly unbreachable. Yet, if something was able to appear in the middle of the Great Hall…what if it was a distraction? Something else could break through.

Worse case, there was nothing, and maybe she could get Weasley to apologize. Best case, she’d earn a life debt from Malfoy and maybe even Weasley.

Pushing her way through the crowd, she grabbed Ron Weasley by the robes.

“Hey! What are you doing?” He turned and tried to shake her free.

Her grip tightened. “We have to rescue Malfoy.”

“Why would I listen to you, you slimy snake?” Weasley sneered.

“Because Draco could get himself killed.”

“What? Is he that pathetic? I say a few words, and he offs himself?”

Margot rolled her eyes. Some people were so thick. “There’s a rogue creature loose in the castle. Who knows what else broke through the wards. Malfoy could be in trouble.”

“It’s not my problem if Malfoy can’t defend himself.”

“Do you really want the ire of House Malfoy coming down on your head because you killed their _only_ son?”

At that Weasley paled. “But how will we find him?”

Margot rolled her eyes. “We’ll just ask the ghosts and paintings.”

***

Draco stood in the boy’s bathroom, deep in the Dungeons of Hogwarts. No one would find him here. He stood over the sink, tears streaming down his face. Everyone hated him. Slytherin hated him. His own house hated him. Even his parents hated him. His father couldn’t even bear to write to him, his mother wrote infrequently and tersely. He was so defective he couldn’t even end up in Hufflepuff with Crabbe and Goyle!

Distantly, he heard the creaking sound of bathroom door opening. He struggled to compose himself. They were just going to make fun of him. Soon, the whole castle would know he was crying.

He splashed water on his face, hiding the wet tears.

“Hi Malfoy…”

Draco spun around, hearing Weasley’s reluctant voice. He sounded physically pained to be there. His expression looked like a man being marched to his execution. To Draco’s surprise, Margot Verger was standing right behind Weasley, gripping his arm like a vice. Why was she in the boy’s room? Draco had never interacted with her. At least she seemed more stable than her brother.

“What do you want?!” Draco snapped.

“Why do you think—” Weasley cut off as Margot shoved him in the ribs.

“Ouch! Uh…it’s dangerous in the castle.” Weasley said flatly, like he was trying to remember a planned script. “You should come back to the Tower.”

Draco sharply laughed. “You really think I believe you care about me? Just get out!”

“I—”

“Weasley!” Margot barked. “Just say it!”

“Fine.” Weasley gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry you took offense to what I said.” He rushed through the sentence in one breath.

What. Draco thought. Was this some sort of new insult? That Weasley and Margot Verger had stalked him all the way down to the dungeons to torment him? However, from looking at Margot’s face she seemed equally frustrated with the obnoxious redhead.

But before Draco could open his mouth, a foul odor wafted through the boy’s restroom. It smelled like rotting meal, puke, and a sewer, all wrapped up in a moldy pie.

“What is that—” Weasley wrinkled his nose in disgust.

He was cut off as the bathroom door shattered. Splintered wood flew across the room, sending the three children scuttling towards the back of the room.

Draco looked up. Hulking in the doorway, was a huge, angry, monstrous, troll. The troll snarled, looked at the three of them, and brandished his club. Weasley shrieked, and dived towards one of the stalls. Draco turned and followed, trying to get as far away from the Troll as possible.

Both boys had drawn their wands. Weasley started firing off a stream of red sparks.

“Its skin is impervious to magic!” Draco shouted, having horrid flashbacks to the Trophy Room. “We have to knock it out!” He physically grabbed Weasley, and yanked him out of the way of the rebounding spells.

“How?! I only know _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ”

“We need to lift something to drop on its head!” Draco shouted over the Troll’s roar as it started lumbering into the room. Draco’s eyes quickly darted around the room. There was nothing to drop.

“Maybe we can lift the Troll and drop it onto the sink! Then lift the sink and drop it onto the Troll!” Weasley shouted, his voice betraying his confidence in this plan.

There was a huge smash, as the Troll brought the club down on the stalls. Porcelain and bent metal flew everywhere. Draco and Weasley dropped to the ground, hands covering their heads.

“Merlin! We’re going to die in the toilets!” Weasley wailed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Margot fussing with her bag. She had pulled out some sort of strange metal wand, and was holding it with two hands, arms extended, holding it out at eye level. She was wearing some sort of strange hard looking earmuffs.

BOOM! The whole room shook. Draco found himself on the floor, ears ringing, blinded as the whole world went white.

***

With a bang the doors to the Great Hall flew open. Turban askew, Quirinus Quirrel burst into the room.

“TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!” He shouted, and dramatically fainted on the floor.

There was silence.

Cautiously, Quirrel peaked over his arms. Seeing the Great Hall empty, he stood, and awkwardly dusted off his robes. Deciding to pretend this situation did not happen, he slunk back out the door. Either way, it was time to get the stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended up deciding to split this chapter in half. I think we're going to do shorter chapters in the future if that's ok with everyone.


	5. Troll?

As Albus led the group into his office, he debated calling the Ministry. This was clearly a dangerous, unknown creature. As easily as the thought came, he quickly dismissed it. Doing so was an affront to his authority. The ministry might question Hogwart’s the safety. Still, he would have tread carefully. There was old and powerful magic in the room.

“Let me introduce you to my colleagues.” Albus cooly spoke.

“Spare me.” The creature squeaked. “I already know. Minerva, Filius,” The creature nodded politely. Then its bug eyes turned cold. “Severus, I did not recognize you.” As it spoke, its augmented eye spun around, carefully dartingits gaze about the room. It looked exactly like an eye worn by a certain paranoid Auror.

“May I?” The mysterious creature spoke gesturing towards his now holstered wand.

“Of course.” Albus replied. The creature produced its wand—and even Albus was momentarily surprised. The other faculty just gasped and gaped like startled fishwives. It was the splitting image of Albus’s wand—the Elder Wand.

He let his hand slip into his robe, and checked that his wand was still there. Curious. Could this be a fake? No, he thought, he could feel the powerful thrum of magic emanating from the artifact.

The creature opened up its leather pouch, and summoning a news clipping, and un-shrunking it. It placed it down on the table in front of the faculty.

 _Harry Potter: Assassinated by Rogue Auror? Ministry to Blame?_ The headline screamed.

“Harry Potter is alive?” Fillius asked, glancing at the date, several years in the future. It appeared somehow the creature had defied the impossible, and traveled _back_ in time.

“He’s always was alive!” The creature exclaimed. “But Voldemort returned, and cut Harry down before his 16th birthday!”

The faculty all exchanged curious glances. “You mean Harry Potter wasn’t killed as an infant?” Fillius continued.

Albus could sense Severus growing nervous. He certainly did not want to have to obliviate the faculty and this strange little creature. With both of them holding the Elder Wand, who knew what could occur.

“Killed as an infant?!” The creature exclaimed. “The Great Harry Potter? The only child of Lily and James Potter?”

Minerva and Fillius exchanged strange glances, clearly confused.

“How did you come to arrive?” Albus smoothly changed the topic, lest any unfortunate revelations occur.

The creature’s eyes saddened. “I dedicated my life to save The Great Harry Potter, and his friends. The few that remained sent me back to fix it. It appears something went wrong. There are students I do not recognize. Harry Potter is not in Gryffindor.”

“You mean William Potter is in Ravenclaw.” Minerva corrected.

Albus suppressed a sigh of relief. It appeared as the creature came from a different universe. However, he was curious as to where the point of divergence occurred.

The creature appraised Minerva carefully. “Yes, of course. _William_ Potter. Well,” it shrugged, a strange action on such an imposing little creature. “A Potter is a Potter and I swore to protect Harry. William will have to do.”

“You certainly are well equipped.” Fillius appraised. “Custom made Goblin Armor? I haven’t seen that since—”

Before he could finish Albus felt the magic of the castle pulse, deep and low, like the vibrations of a large gong. Exchanging glances with Minerva, he could tell she felt it too.

“Minerva, would you be so kind as to stay here with our guest? Severus, Filius, come with me.” He reached out his hands, and holding theirs, apparated to the source of the warning.

They found themselves standing in the entryway to the boy’s dungeon bathroom. Or what remained of it.There was a huge crater in the middle of the room, and shattered bits of porcelain sinks and toilets lay scattered about. Bent metal dividers lay smashed in strange, protruded shapes. Yet, most concerning was the troll laying in the middle of the room. Its head was completely pulverized, brains and bone splattered across the wall, creating something reminiscent of some kind of Muggle Modern Art.

“What in Merlin’s name…?” Filius started.

Albus would have thought it as a _reducto_ to the head, except trolls were impervious to magic. “It appears we have seen a first. A self-destructing Troll.”

***

Percy Weasley stood in front of the 3rd corridor. He knew in the chaos it was likely some of the Gryffindors (probably his two younger brothers) might try and make a go at whatever was hidden. He didn’t know what it was, but if Professor Dumbledore said it was off limits, he had to protect it. He paced back and forth, like a guard dog, wand drawn.

A sound startled him. Flipping around, he heard footsteps running away, back down the stairs.

He smiled. Intruder prevented.

***

“What was that?!” Draco strained to whisper, the three of them having fled the scene after the Troll’s destruction. Draco had never seen anything like that. The Troll’s head was just gone! He didn’t know how a first year could do that! He’d heard rumors about the Dark Lord’s power, but he wasn’t even sure that the dark lord could do _that_ as a first year. Draco immediately cringed at the blasphemous comparison.

They were currently hiding in an empty classroom, one floor away, huddled around a small table.

“Yeah!” Ron added. “What was that?!”

Margot looked slightly nervous, the black metal wand now gone from sight. Her eyes flitted between Draco and Ron. She stiffened, sitting up straight, her voice firm. “Family magic.”

***

As Albus Hannibal Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore walked down the corridors of Nurmengard, he thought fondly of decades past. One image stuck in his mind. His Will sat in a brown leather chair, wearing one of Hannibal’s shirts, reading a book on the Great Unsolved Magical Mysteries. Sun lazily drifted through the kitchen curtains of Hannibal’s Godric Hollow home, casting a warm glow over Will’s boyish features. The aroma of rendering meat wafted through the air, as Hannibal seared a lovely piece of fatted ‘pork’.

“Do you think the Deathly Hallows are real?” Will interrupted, looking up from his book, eyes sparkling in thought. “Three brothers, defying Death himself. It seems so far-fetched.”

“If there is one thing Magic has taught me, anything is possible.” Hannibal replied, flipping the meat.

And that was how their search began. The picture of domestic bliss. How times had changed.

Hannibal reached the cell, and stepping inside, saw Will sitting alone on the bed, staring at the stone wall, as if lost. It was almost heartbreaking to see Will so forlorn, but Hannibal was pleased at Will’s appearance. Prison had started to age Will’s face before his time, but the Elixir of Life had changed that. Will’s wavy chocolate brown hair has almost fully returned, and had started to regain its beautiful shine. Only a few grey strands remained. And his face. It was such a pleasing sight. The lines on his face had begun to recede. No doubt Will only needed a few more treatments, and he would look like he had in his youth; vibrant and lithe.

Hannibal could have stood there for hours, just admiring his old affection, but Will spoke.

“Are you going to conjure a chair? Surely that’s more comfortable than standing. I can hear you salivating.”

Oh Will, ever the acerbic wit. “What can I say?” Hannibal replied, conjuring a squishy looking brown leather armchair and taking a seat. “You look much improved.”

Will scoffed. “No doubt in your eyes a bonus.”

“Now, is that anyway to speak to someone who just saved your life?”

“Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t.” Will bitterly spat.

Despite his control, Hannibal felt his eyes slightly widen in alarm. “Why would you say that?”

“I may be free of manacles, but my mind is trapped.”

“Memories can’t sustain you? Surely you have many pleasant ones of us to relive.”

“And many terrible ones.” Will spoke through gritted teeth.

“I did what I had to protect you. You would have done something rash.”

“You’re right. I would have.” Then Will let out a deep sigh, and momentarily closed his eyes. Finally, he turned and looked up at Hannibal. Hannibal was momentarily struck. Will’s eyes had regained their brightness, his blue eyes reminiscent of deep tropical lagoons, slightly tinted green. “Perhaps you could let me read a book?” Will sighed forlornly. “Just one book. You’re choice. Pretty please?” Will flickered his thick eyelashes.

How could Hannibal say no? And he knew exactly which book to bring. As he produced the vial of elixir, he spoke. “Your wish is my command. Now,” he leaned back in the chair, one leg cooly crossed over the other. “Let me tell you about the strange occurrences at Hogwarts…” 

 

**And a sneak peak:**

The cold metal of a blade woke Lucius Malfoy from his stupor. He was alone again. His wife had regulated him to one of the many guest rooms, after in a fit of anger, he threatened to disown Draco. It had been a long several weeks.

The blade cut at his throat. Before he could move for his wand, a magically modified voice spoke. It was low and deep. “Don’t move.”

Lucius froze, body tensed. The blade appeared to be suspended in mid-air. Above him, a robed figure hunched over his bed, wand in hand. A mask covered the figure’s face, but Lucius could just barely make out one eye, wildly spinning about. He recognized that eye. Had that **Auror** Moody finally lost his mind? How did he get past the Malfoy wards?

“You will summon your House Elf, Dobby.” The voice instructed.

Lucius blinked in bewilderment. What did Mad-Eye want with his House Elf? Was Dobby part of some plot? He knew he should never have trusted that uppity elf.

“Do you know how long it takes to bleed out?” The knife jutted forward again, stinging Lucius’ throat. Then the figure dropped a moldy sock in Lucius’ face. “Your choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the late update. I had great difficulty with the Hannibal/Will scene. I've decided to make shorter chapters, and hopefully more frequent updates. 
> 
> Out of curiosity, how are people finding this fic? Through the Harry Potter fandom? Or through the Hannibal fandom? Or are people sorting for both?


	6. Revenge!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, as usual, Mason uses some pretty awful language. He's the worst.

With Christmas approaching, William and Hermione dug through books in the library. They still had yet to find a suitable punishment for Mason Verger.

After what seemed like hours, Hermione finally exclaimed, holding up _Is Your Child Misbehaving?_ William smiled as she handed him the open book. As always, her brown bushy hair was a frizzy mess. Though it always seemed to grow more wild with her excitement. With a prim expression, she started reciting the text. “Are you concerned your child is learning inappropriate behavior from friends? Are you concerned your child is using foul language? Cast this helpful charm, and a red dot will appear on their forehead every time they swear.”

William started to chuckle. With Mason’s mouth Mason would soon look like he had the worst case of acne imaginable.

“I’ll get him next time we have class with the Hufflepuffs.” Hermione grinned, memorizing the spell. She snorted, closed the book, and returned it to the shelf. “We don’t need the counter charm.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love it when you’re clever?” William grinned.

Hermione averted her eyes as she blushed.

As they turned to leave the library, a short figure in a dark cloak popped in front of them. William immediately recognized it as the figure from the Halloween feast. However, this time it did not look like it was about to mount an invasion. Instead of the weapons, over the armor, it wore a dark black cloak, clasped at the neck with a silver broach of the Potter family crest.

“William Potter.” It greeted. This time its voice was low, clearly magically altered. “Dark times come ahead. I come to train you against Voldemort and his followers.”

“But Voldemort _is_ dead!” William exclaimed.

“He might want you to think that. Before I left I swore to protect you and your friends.”

William and Hermione exchanged worried glances.

“We will start training soon.” The figure announced before disappearing with a loud pop.

“He can apparate within Hogwarts wards?” Hermione finally spoke, aghast. “How powerful is he?”

***

Later that day, as Draco and Ron were walking to Transfiguration, Ron shuddered. "What is Seamus Finnegan going to blow up today?"

"I don't know." The Draco replied. "But I'm not sitting in the same _row_ as him."

"He's a public hazard!" Ron exclaimed. "So far, he's blown up his cauldron in Potions! He's blown up his pin in Transfiguration! He's even blown up his quill in History of Magic! ”

Draco nodded. The History of Magic explosion had really baffled everyone.

"What are your plans for Christmas?" Ron asked.

Draco momentarily slumped his shoulders. He was still waiting to hear from his parents.

As they turned the corner, they found the corridor blocked by Mason, Crabbe, Goyle, and...Ernie McMillan?

“Hufflepuffs stick together?” Ernie said weakly, cowering under Ron and Draco’s glare.

“Shove out of the way.” Ron demanded. As much as Draco didn't want to admit it, Ron could be refreshingly direct. It was strange, but a nice change from the polished, proper ways of Malfoy and many of his peer's upbringing. He just had to make sure it didn't rub off. Such a trait was good in a minion, but Father would never tolerate such behavior from him.

Mason sneered. “Looks like blondie here got himself a pet rodent. Right weasel?”

“I’m not a rodent!” The red head stomped his foot.

“Yes, you just sleep with one.” Mason giggled. “How does…oh I can’t remember its name, it sounds like a disease, please you?”

Ron's anger morphed, as he just stood there agape in disgust.

“So, that’s what you do.” Mason sneered. “Buggering small barnyard animals.”

Draco decided it was time to intervene before Ron did anything rash. Doing his best impression of Father, he looked down his nose in disgust. “I expect you’ll be looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures, if that’s where your mind wanders.”

Mason turned a red matching Ron's hair. “You’re the one that associates with him!” He sniffed at Ron. “Do you let him take you up the ass? Just like you let your faggy father—”

“Uh…Master Verger…” Goyle spoke.

Draco almost snarled in rage. Goyle was supposed to be his Minion!

“Shut it. Did anyone ever tell you have the intelligence of a fucking Gargoyle?”

“Master Verger…Your forehead…” Goyle continued

“I told you to shut it Gargles.” He turned back to Draco. “Did anyone ever tell you that your father dresses like a pimp? He probably pimps you out to all his friends.”

Draco's mouth fell open, not just at the vile insults, but also at Mason’s forehead. With every sentence, a bright red dot appeared. Mason looked like he was coming down with a bad case of Dragon Pox.

Mason whirled around, and caught his reflection on a set of highly polished armor. “What did you do?! You fucking—” He screamed at Draco, now completely flipping out as more dots appeared. Mason lunged himself in Draco’s direction. Draco quickly stepped back, worried that the quickly spreading pox might be contagious.

“I’m going to fucking kill you. And once I take out your eye sockets and shove—”

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” Filch’s voice boomed.

Before Ron could reply, Draco immediately composed himself like father taught and calmly spoke. “Weasley and I were walking to class. We were accosted by Verger.”

“—so deep that it’s going to come out your—” Mason continued, frothing at the mouth like a rabid pekingese dog.

Filch grabbed the Verger heir by the scruff of his neck, and lifted him off the ground. “Detention! The rest of you, scram!”

“—and then I’ll scrap the marrow from your bones and feed it to the dogs!” Mason continued screaming, flailing ineffectually.

***

Poppy Pomfrey sighed as she observed the Verger heir wrap gauze. While it was true that a helping hand was always welcome, and even a first year could complete basic organizational tasks, she was still skeptical of Mason Verger. Unfortunately, it was just her luck that it was her turn to take the next student in detention.

Luckily, he seemed obedient, and so far had completed every task assigned with gusto and a precision. Maybe the rumors swirling around the faculty weren’t true. Just in case, she’d closed up the potions cabinet.

She returned to her endless paperwork, reviewing student’s charts, and determining who needed follow up appointments. Several charts later, she was startled by the sound of approaching screams. Two fourth year boys entered the room, levitating a howling third year. His left arm and right leg were clearly broken, each twisted back in unnatural angles. Blood was dripping from his head.

“He fell off his broom Madame Pomfrey!” The first boy exclaimed.

“Move him over here.” She hurried over, and pulled back the white curtains surrounding a hospital bed. “How is Quidditch still allowed.” She grumbled. “Child endangerment!”

Carefully, they lowered the bleeding boy onto a bed. She shut out the mewling and wailing, focused on her task. Swiftly moving past Mason, who was still winding strips of gauze, she glanced at the open medical cabinet, and removed a brown apothecary bottle, carefully labeled Calming Draught. She needed the boy to stop twitching if she was going to properly repair his limbs.

Back at the bedside, she slowly fed him the potion. Suddenly, all four of his limbs went limp, arms flopping off the bed like bendy tubes.

“What?!” She exclaimed, horrified. “Did you cast any spells on him? Anything that could interact?” As she inspected, she started to gape in horror. All the bones were just gone. The poor boy had gone completely quiet. Whether it was shock, or lack of pain, she did not know.

She spun around at the sound of a raucous giggle. Her face became stone cold. She approached Mason Verger, who was now in a full fledged raucous fit. “What did you do?” She demanded, voice turning to ice.

“I’m not telling!” He gasped through laughter.

She tore another brown apothecary bottle from the cabinet. Carefully, sniffing the Pepper-up Potion, she winced. Mason had switched the labels with the Drowsiness Draught. Rage coursed through her body, as she looked at the huge cabinet of bottles. There were hundreds! She and Severus would have to individually test every single potion, and potentially re-brew them. It would take weeks, if not months to fix. A rage like she had never felt before coursed through her ever calm body.

“300 points from Hufflepuff!” She bellowed, her inner Ravenclaw eagle barring its claws. “Now get out of here! Before I curse you! And I’ll see you have detention every night until this is fixed!”

***

_You have to come see this!_ Draco finally convinced Margot, Ron and Neville to join him in his search for the magical mirror. After much internal debate, he had decided he wanted to show his…dare he call them…friends? No, they weren’t friends, just convenient acquaintances. He reassured himself. This was what father would call ‘gathering intelligence’.

“Are you sure this mirror really exists?” Ron whined. They’d spent the better part of an hour wandering the corridors, trying different rooms.

“I think it was here!” Draco exclaimed. “It was definitely in this corridor.”

Finally, they tried the last classroom, and Draco sighed in relief.

***

Margot coughed in the dusty old classroom, and gazed up at the large mirror. An inscription was engraved across its top, _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

To Margot’s dismay, Ron rushed forward, not thinking to examine the inscription engraved across its top. Well, that was why he was in Gryffindor and not Slytherin.

A huge grin crossed the red haired boy’s face. To Margot’s amusement, since the Troll incident, Ron had decided that Draco wasn’t that bad, and now stuck to him like chewy taffy. And technically they both owed her life debts.

“I’m head boy!” Ron shouted, puffing his chest out like a pigeon. “And Captain of our Quidditch Team! My whole family is cheering! Even Percy!”

“Maybe it shows the future?” Neville replied, clearly taken aback by the youngest Weasley male’s sudden success.

Margot looked at him skeptically. “If you read the top, it says, ‘I show not your face but your hearts desire.’”

Both Draco and Ron slumped, and took several steps back. As Draco’s suspicions about the mirror were correct, Ron's cheeks rose to the color of his hair.

A sad smile crossed Neville’s face as he stepped in front of the mirror. “I see my whole family. My mother and father are home.”

Margot took a step forward to gaze into the mirror. A wide grin filled her face. She was standing middle of a graveyard, triumphant. She wore the Verger family head ring. All around her, lay the tomb stones of her relatives, dead and buried. “I see my family too.”

***

Once again, Will flipped through the pages of Beadle the Bard. Of course Hannibal would give him _that_ book. The insufferable wizard had even flagged the section on the Deathly Hallows. He never could resist the chance to gloat.

The prison cell door creaked open. Will looked up, and saw Hannibal in all his plaid robed glory. Propping himself up on the bed, Will languidly stretched, exposing his shirtless torso, knowing exactly what effect this would have on his former lover.

“Good evening Will.” Hannibal’s eyes casually flicked over Will’s bare skin. “I take it you enjoy your reading?” The wizard conjured a brown leather chair, and took a seat.

“Of course.” Even though Will wanted to punch that smug look off Hannibal’s face, he flashed Hannibal a grateful smile. He knew there were certain looks that the man just couldn’t resist. Will intended to use every single one of them.

“We never did find the resurrection stone.” Hannibal mused, noting with his head the book Will had splayed out on the bed in front of him.

_We_ , Will almost wanted to laugh. _I_ found the Elder Wand, he thought. _You_ just stole it. Instead Will asked, “You found the cloak?”

“Yes, a family was kind enough to entrust it into my care.”

The smug satisfaction was almost insufferable. Will couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. Gullible fools. Why couldn’t they see what was so obvious? Though, he supposed, it had taken him years to figure it out, and he lived with the man. As Will had learned the hard way, love makes one blind. And the great Albus Hannibal Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was adored by many.

“I see they still haven’t learned. How is Hogwarts?”

A mischievous gleam twinkled in Hannibal’s eyes. “I left the mirror of Erised for the children to find.”

Will suppressed a snort. “Spying on them?”

“Of course. It would be remise not to gather intelligence on my charges. One never knows when knowledge of their deepest desires might become useful.”

Will frowned, tightening his round lips. “You never told me. What did you see in it?”

“Last time it was a new pair of plaid socks.”

“Socks?” Will resisted rolling his eyes at Hannibal’s glib answer.

“You?” Hannibal queried.

Will turned to face Hannibal directly. Looking into the man’s dark eyes, Will guilelessly told the truth. “You already know. _Us._ Together.”

For a moment, Will thought he saw a slight flash of regret cross Hannibal’s stony visage. But it was gone. Just like the past. Moving on, Will frowned, and asked, “Do you feel any compunction about performing psychological experiments on children?”

Hannibal’s impassive expression had returned. “After the staircases, ghosts, and professors, what harm can one little mirror do?”

Will shook his head. Honestly, he was surprised there weren’t more fatalities at Hogwarts each year.

“And how about you?” Hannibal asked, leaning forward. His eyes flared hungrily, taking in Will’s body.

Will could feel his heart start to beat. Even after all these years, after all the torment, somehow Hannibal managed to hold an allure over him. But he would break free. “I miss our conversations.” Will reminisced, carefully maneuvering the conversation as he gazed off at the prison door.

“We talk all the time.” Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

Will glanced down at the stone floor, trying to look as sad as possible. “I mean our debates. _Our research_. You’re out there making discoveries. I’m…well here.” He shrugged sadly.

“Are you bored?” For the first time that evening, a touch of concern entered the wizard’s voice.

Will closed his eyes briefly, summoning the memory. “Remember that time, we were sitting on your couch, in front of the fire, debating magical structures? You had poured your favorite Scotch, my head was resting on your shoulder. You were so _passionate_ about Aegeus’ Theorem of Runic Compression.” Will looked back up, trying to channel excitement into his blue eyes. He could see a deep hunger stirring in the man across from him, like the man was about to devour him and the memory. “We never did finish that conversation.” Because the next time I saw you, you ‘arrested’ me, Will thought, suppressing a grimace.

“Yes. That was…unfortunate.” Hannibal nodded, once again under control.

“Maybe we could continue it.” Will asked, voice full of hope. He flashed a sweet smile. He had a plan to escape. In addition to runic compression, Aegeus’ book also had a section on dismantling wards. While he remembered most of it, Will knew he had only one attempt to escape. A quick brush up would be very useful.

“Oh?”

“I never had the chance to tell you, but I was very close to a breakthrough, before my…unfortunate change in circumstances.”

Hannibal’s eyes lit up. Will knew the wizard would not be able to resist the temptation of new knowledge.

“I can try and reconstruct my research,” Will rose from the bed, pacing, pretending to be lost in thought. If Hannibal hadn’t changed, he knew the man found him adorable when he was excited about a subject. “But I need to check the book. It’s been years.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Will noticed Hannibal nod. Hook, line, sinker. Will thought. Of course, he knew what would happen if he actually did finish his research and shared it with Hannibal. Hannibal would pass it off as his own, and most likely win another award. As if he didn’t have enough. Will turned away from Hannibal momentarily to suppress a grimace.

“It is a very rare book.” Hannibal almost taunted.

Will could see his goal right within grasp. “I’m sure you have a copy of it. You always had the far better library.” Including my library, which you seized after imprisoning me, Will mused bitterly.

Hannibal let a thin smile cross his lips. “I can see what I can do.” The wizard rose and approached Will, eyes gleaming like a predator. Will stumbled backwards, his back hitting a stone wall. Hannibal leaned forward, and reaching out, leaned against the wall, trapping Will between his arms. Will could feel his breathing grow ragged, heat starting to pool in his stomach. Merlin, how he longed for physical contact after all these years.

Closing his eyes, Will inhaled sharply. He could smell the notes of cedar and musk in Hannibal’s cologne. Tilting his head to one side, he vulnerably bared his neck, inviting Hannibal to move closer. He felt the air still, and held his breath, waiting.

Sharply Hannibal pulled away. As he turned to leave, he flashed a mischievously cruel smirk. He knew exactly what he was doing to Will’s body. “I look forward to seeing the results.” The door closed behind him, leaving Will alone to exhale.

 

**Next time...**

Draco was so grateful. His mother had finally convinced father to let him return home for Christmas break. They sat at the breakfast table. Laid out before them sat a veritable spread of pastries, jams, eggs, bacon and sausage, and Draco’s favorite, Belgium Waffles with a scoop of thick clotted cream and syrup.

Suddenly, a hideous, dirty, diseased, failure of an owl crashed through a nearby stained glass window and dropped a package right into the middle of the egg platter, sending yolk flying, before face planting right into his father’s plate. A china cup filled with blackcurrant juice flew into father’s lap, permanently staining his peacock green velvet dressing robe. Draco looked on in horror.

His mother appraised him cooly. “One of your school friends?”

Draco gulped. His father’s nose flared in disgust and contempt.

“Let’s see the package. Open it up.” She continued, passing the gift to Draco, carefully avoiding dripping egg yolk.

He reached for it, dreading every moment. It was wrapped in cheap brown paper, and the sticking charm holding it together had already started to unravel. Carefully tearing it off, he pulled out a hideous red knit jumper, with a misshapen silver interpretation of the Malfoy family crest.

Lucius rose, his pale face now apoplectic with rage, and he stormed out of the breakfast room.

Unflinching, his mother picked up the tag that had fallen into marmalade.

“Receiving gifts from the _Weasleys_ now?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Christmas Break! Gifts for all! Poor Neville is scarred.


End file.
